Wednesday Lessons
by 606
Summary: Beginning mere weeks after the Trials, Draco Malfoy has started to dangerously lose control of his magic. His only hope is the tutelage of Harry bloody Potter - but, of course, things never happen easily between the pair of once-enemies. (HP/DM, EWE, pre-8th year, slow-build-ish)
1. Lesson One

ooOoo

Wednesday Lessons

ooOoo

Lesson One

o

"Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility."

~ Nathaniel Hawthorne, _The Scarlet Letter_

o

_Blood pooled around his pale skin, cherry-black stains crawling up his white shirt. His body twitched against the freezing stone floor, his muscles shivering as the slices on his chest continued to weep. A vengeful hissing could be heard creeping in behind him, the heavy sound of a body slithering across the floor causing his shivers to multiply. Suddenly there were scarlet, piercing eyes, a slow, cold smile accompanied by pain, such horrible, penetrating agony ripping through his body, an unforgiving presence smothering his mind in terror. _

"NO!" Draco's eyes flew open, his body sitting bolt upright in his sweat-soaked sheets, his hand clawing at the blood-red Mark on his left arm. He panted as he took in his surroundings: his dresser seemed to have overturned, spewing his clothes all over his polished wooden floors; his mirror was cracked, a sprinkling of fine, shining dust layering any nearby surfaces; his door was swinging on one of its hinges, a large gauge in the middle of the wood.

Draco groaned, covering his face with his hands as he collapsed back on his mattress. "Fuck."

This was getting out of hand.

ooOoo

"Good morning, Darling," Narcissa greeted as Draco shuffled into the dining room, straightening his shirt as Blissy laid out his breakfast. He nodded politely as he pulled out his chair, delicately seating himself in front of his meal of finely cooked Jarvey meat and a green, teardrop-shaped fruit he enjoyed for its nutty taste.

"Good morning, Mother. I hope you slept well."

Narcissa raised a groomed eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes staring hard at her only son. "I did sleep quite well, Draco, though I did hear some commotion at one point." The question, or demand, perhaps, was implied, causing Draco to stare hard at his breakfast, ignoring the physical feel of his mother's gaze.

The dining room was silent except for the quiet _clink_ of silverware against fine porcelain, the noiseless argument between the two Malfoy's charging the air. Draco suddenly, harshly set down his fork, finally making eye-contact with Narcissa. "Mother, what would you care for me to do? I refuse to see a physician; after all, there is nothing to cure."

"'Nothing to cure,' Draco? You do realize this is the seventh time in a fortnight that your room has been practically dismantled while you slept." Draco frowned, turning his head away to stare into the empty fireplace. The grey light seeping into the room from the rain-pelted window cast a dim shadow over the inhabitants of the walls, seeming to reflect the dour mood.

"I know, Mother. But having…nightmares," Draco muttered the word, ashamed of his subconscious, "is not something I want to broadcast, particularly to a society that already finds me vexing and pathetic."

"At this point, my dear, it might not matter what you want: your magic has been unstable for weeks now, Draco, ever since things finally started to settle down after the Trials. You simply must do something before you hurt yourself while you sleep." Narcissa's tone was sharp, as close as she ever got to pleading with her own child.

Draco sighed, slouching in his high-backed chair. "Fine, Mother; say that I wanted to find some way to solve the issue of my unstable magic – who could I even approach to aid me?"

Blue met grey for a long moment.

It abruptly clicked in Draco's mind. "No, no, no, Mother! I refuse! It's simply impossible! I refuse to approach that arrogant, self-righteous, conceited –"

Narcissa's mouth curled into an apologetic smirk as she cut off her son's rant. "You know as well as I do that he is one of the most powerful living wizards; he will surely know how to channel your excessive magical energy." Narcissa took a long sip of her plum-coloured drink. "He also happens to owe me a favour."

Draco's mouth twisted as though he tasted something incredibly bitter. Narcissa gazed at him across the stretched table, watching in a knowing silence. "Fine," Draco finally spat, getting up from the table and stomping to his room in a very childish way.

Narcissa chuckled at his back. "Blissy, please bring me a quill and some parchment."

ooOoo

It was still raining.

Draco sat in his favourite armchair in his father's study, immersed in memories and dreams, the two being startlingly similar recently. It'd been hours since breakfast, hours that Draco passed in a blurry daze: how could his mother believe that…that _prick_ could help him with this? So maybe he was the most powerful wizard living at the moment, and perhaps he was more likely to stay away from the press than others – that didn't mean Draco had to enjoy the fact that he would owe Harry bloody Potter another damn thing.

_But_, a sneaking voice in Draco's mind muttered, _your problem is becoming rather serious, to put it lightly._ Draco reached into the sleeve of his shirt, pulling out the wand he'd been using for the past few weeks, an ancient Malfoy heirloom, the grain of wood and the core unknown. The Slytherin pointed the magical stick at his father's desk, quietly murmuring the spell for it to turn blue.

Instead, it crumbled into maroon-coloured powder.

"Fuck!" Draco yelped as he scrambled out of his chair, kneeling down to run his hand through the fine residue that was once another priceless antique. Draco hit his fist lightly against his forehead, knowing that this level of disintegration was irreparable.

"Fuck," he repeated. He stood, staring hard at the pile of dust, an absolutely mental idea suddenly taking over him. He tossed the wand on the armchair, reaching out to hold his hand over the pile, similar to how one who hold a hand over a broom. Feeling incredibly stupid, Draco whispered, "_Reparo_," willing the pile to return to its previous, intact state.

Nothing happened.

Muttering curses at himself and the room in general, Draco picked up the temperamental wand, turning and exiting the room before slamming the door shut behind him.

The pile of dust quivered, building itself into the sculpted, ornate bureau it had once been. The far-off noise of another door being slammed echoed through the house, and the desk dissolved onto the floor once again.

ooOoo

The air was heavy with moisture, pressing down on Draco's skin as he stood in the decrepit remains of the gardens behind the Manor. The legacy of those last few hellish months of war could be seen around Draco's own home – infecting the place, making it no longer seem like the fortress it had once been to him. The large expanses of burnt grass where Death Eaters had been tortured for hours or days on end seemed to stare at Draco, leering at him.

Draco shuddered, reaching down to grip his Mark tightly, turning the skin around it paler than normal from the pressure.

"Master Draco is being requested to being in the drawing room by Missus Narcissa," Blissy squeaked suddenly from behind Draco, startling the boy. He nodded at the elf, taking in one last, long breath of air before turning and entering the handsome manor that had once been his fort, his one haven from the monsters…Now it seemed to be the epicentre of them all.

"Mother, you called for me?" Draco asked as he stepped around the corner, entering the pale, sky-blue room that was alight with weak, after-storm sun.

"Why yes, Draco. We have a guest, you see." But Draco wasn't listening, his focus averted to the slouching, dark-haired man leaning against the frame of one of the arching windows.

"…Potter," Draco tried to greet as civilly as possible, though he could still hear the taint of venom on his words. Potter barely glanced at him, his look unamused, practically bored. The Chosen One turned his head to continue gazing out of the window, his glasses reflecting light and blocking vision of those famous green eyes of his.

Irritation licked heat into Draco, Potter's clear dismissal of his presence at once both infuriating and familiar. Draco turned to his mother, a questioning tilt in his eyebrows. "Mister Potter agreed to discuss some important matters with me today, and I requested your presence at these negotiations, as they do pertain to you, Draco."

Draco saw Potter glance at Narcissa out of his peripheral vision, one of those dark eyebrows raised with as much emotion as Draco had seen come out of the once-Gryffindor so far. "I thought that we were attending to the life debt I owe _you_, Missus Malfoy, not the ones I potentially owe your son."

Draco's eyes widened, his gaze boring into the side of his mother's face. _Life debts?_ Draco had understood that he and his mother had helped Potter at times, but he'd never thought that any of those occurrences warranted one of the most significant obligations in wizarding law.

Narcissa ignored the palpable confusion from her son, watching Potter with calm, but alert, eyes. "That is correct, Mister Potter. Though I require no return for my aid, my son is in need of your guidance." Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks, but forced himself to retain focus on the conversation.

"Guidance with what, exactly?" Two sets of eyes were suddenly turned to Draco, the intensity of the focus causing him to swallow and straightened his back.

"I have been suffering from some intense…night-time visions, Potter." The ex-Gryffindor cocked that condescending eyebrow.

"You mean nightmares? You want _me_ to help you with your nightmares?" Potter smirked slightly, his tone dripping with disinterested derision.

"That's not all, Potter," Draco continued furiously. "During the night, I seem to lose control of my magic – it seems to explode out of me, for lack of better terms. My room keeps getting destroyed…and it is getting worse. I also appear to be losing my ability to use a wand." Narcissa frowned at the new information.

Potter still seemed unimpressed. "So what exactly do you want me to do about it?"

"We all know that you can control unbelievable amounts of magic, Potter, so there's no use claiming otherwise. I also believe that you are one of the few members of our society who understands the need for privacy and discretion," Narcissa added coolly as she gracefully perched herself on the settee.

The room was quiet for long while, Narcissa and Draco staring at the dark enigma leaning against their window. "Do you need some other sort of compensation, Potter? We can certainly offer a supply of Galleons –"

"I don't need money. How long will I have to help?"

"Until I stop blowing up my house, Potter," Draco said snootily. Potter stared backed at him, projecting his desire that Draco would simply disappear.

"Fine, then. I'll teach _Draco_ how to control his magic, and in return I won't owe any of you any more life debts." Narcissa nodded, standing up and reaching out to shake Potter's hand.

"Very good. When would it be convenient for you to begin helping Draco?" Potter shrugged. Narcissa rolled her eyes, feeling as though she was dealing with children. "Well, Mister Potter, I'm leaving for France on Wednesday, why don't you come by then? Our old ballroom should be plenty of space for whatever tutoring needs to occur."

"Fine. I'll see you then. Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy, Draco," Potter nodded unemotionally before following Blissy to the door. The _thunk_ of the heavy wooden door shutting behind the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice resounded into the parlour.

"Well, that went well, don't you think?" Narcissa smiled thinly. Draco grimaced.

ooOoo

Wednesday dawned dreary and smothered in fog, the weather continuing to reflect Draco's stagnant mood. He kissed his mother lightly on the cheek as she stepped into their Floo, twitching his mouth into a reluctant smile as the green fire whisked her away to France.

It was quiet.

The Manor seemed cavernous with its lack of inhabitants – the once richly-populated, lively mansion now a rattling husk with its one lonesome occupier. Draco paced his rooms, staring at the destruction he'd caused the night before – the chaos had spread to the two adjacent bedrooms this time, gaping holes crowding the walls. The Slytherin twirled the ancient wand in his fingers, debating whether to attempt to repair the damage or not.

Before he could decide, a horrendous, ear-splitting screech filled the hallways of the Manor, causing Draco to yelp soundlessly as he covered his ears. Panic fluttering in his chest, Draco scrambled to the nearest window, knowing that the only thing that could set off the Manor's modified Caterwauling Charm was an unauthorized penetration of its wards.

Draco's mouth fell open in outrage: Potter stood in the middle of the stone path leading towards the Manor, the dark-haired layabout waving his wand in an apathetic manner as he simply walked through the various levels of protection Draco's home was trying to enact.

Draco fumbled as he opened the window, leaning out into the cool air before taking a deep breath. "POTTER! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Potter looked up at the shouts, his lips twitching as he made eye contact with the red-faced blonde.

"I didn't know how to knock on your completely-_not_-pretentious-and-overbearing gate, so I just walked in," Potter shrugged after casting a quick _sonorous_ on his throat. Draco fumed, not even able to comprehend Potter's lack of manners. He slammed the sill shut, stormed down the grand staircase, called off the Caterwauling Charm, then flung open the front door, causing Blissy to squeak in fright as she dove out of her master's way.

"POTTER!"

"There's no need to shout: I'm right here, Malfoy." Potter leaned in the alcove, brushing non-existent dust off the shoulder of his simple black shirt. "Ready to begin your 'lessons?'" The slightly mocking tone only made Draco madder, but he resiliently kept his emotions in check. _Fine, Potter. You want to make this unpleasant, I'm only too happy to join in your little game._

"Of course – right this way, Potter," Draco said calmly before beginning the small trek to the vast, dusty ballroom that consumed the southern wing of the Manor. Draco crossed his arms, watching Potter take stock of the room: The chamber was circular, mirrors studding half of the walls, while reaching, diamond-paned glass covered the rest of the them, allowing a clear view of the famous Malfoy gardens, though most of the rose bushes and trees were burnt or bare, war and weather the main causes. A large glass chandelier hung from above, causing Draco to rub the small scar on his hairline – a remnant from one of the previous times Potter had been in this house. Potter pulled his wand from the pocket, doing some sort of complex motion that Draco couldn't see.

Nothing seemed to happen. "And what was that for, exactly?"

Potter didn't even turn around. "It's a flexible Shield Charm: unless you use some sort of Unforgivable, you won't be able to physically injure me."

"If I wanted to attack you, Potter, I would be subtler than cursing you in my own home," Draco said flippantly, impatient.

"I know you're not dumb enough to try and kill me, Malfoy: it's just a security measure." Potter strolled to the centre of the room, standing underneath the shining, iridescent chandelier. He raised his eyebrows impatiently when Draco just stared at him. "Well?"

"'Well' what, Potter?"

"Well, do something."

Draco blinked. "What?"

Potter sighed wearily, rolling his eyes. "Are we here to test your magic or not, Malfoy? Just tell me what spell you're going to use and do it."

Irritation prickled Draco's stomach. _Potter would make an awful teacher_. "_Fine_. I'll make it rain, then." Internally praying that the spell wouldn't accidently cause the ceiling to collapse or something as drastic, Draco flicked the wand upward, mouth twitching happily when soft grey clouds coalesced above the two men, rumbling angrily. _Wait…rumbling?_

Lightning exploded out of the dark mist, shooting down and hitting the marble floor, breaking it with a deafening _CRACK!_ and a blinding burst. Draco fell back against the wall with a groan, pain throbbing from his back. He gently slitted open his eyes, glaring with the little energy he could muster when he saw Potter still standing in the middle of the room, unharmed.

"Well, that was dramatic."

_I hate you, Potter_, Draco thought ruthlessly as he stumbled to his feet, dusting off his expensive grey trousers. "So, O Great Teacher, please tell me what the fuck is happening with my magic." Potter didn't even flinch at Draco's scathing tone, merely crossing his arms across his chest casually as the blonde stalked closer.

"…I'm not quite sure yet." Draco opened his mouth, a biting remark on his tongue, when Potter plucked the ancient Malfoy wand out of his hand.

"Oi!"

"I want to try something, Malfoy. Do the spell again."

"And how am I supposed to do that without a wand?"

Potter narrowed his eyes. Something light sparked in Draco's chest at the reaction. _Finally, he's getting mad. Scarhead asked for this. _"Just _do_ it, Malfoy." Draco huffed, re-enacting the position he'd taken a few days ago over the remains of his father's desk, only this time with his palm facing the ceiling, mentally saying the charm.

Nothing.

"Wow, how _incredibly_ shocking, Potter. _Who_ could have _guessed_ that I wouldn't be able to do the spell without a wand?" Draco deadpanned, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. The Gryffindor just sighed, bored again, throwing the wand back to Draco.

"Well, I think I know what the problem is now." Draco just stared at him.

"…And?" Draco finally demanded. "Are you going to divulge this information?"

"…Nah. I'll see you next Wednesday, then, Malfoy." Draco choked with outrage when Potter turned, beginning his leisurely walk to the entrance of the room.

"Potter! You can't just–!"

Potter suddenly stopped, turning around slightly and pointing a finger at the spidery crack splitting the solid marble floor. "Oh, by the way," and with a noise like a droplet of water hitting cement, the crack was suddenly healing itself before Draco's very eyes, the cream stone smoothening. Draco's neck snapped to Potter, who was tucking his hand back in his pocket.

"What-? How did you-? Potter, that's impossible!"

Potter finally grinned, a sparkle reminiscent of Dumbledore's shining from behind his glasses. "Anyone can do wandless magic, Malfoy. It's just no one else is reckless enough to try."

His eloquence still lost to him, Draco gaped at this enigma of a wizard. "You're _insane_."

"Of course I am. But why should that be a bad thing? See you Wednesday."

Potter's smile grew a bit crooked at the edges before he turned and strolled out of the door, leaving a gaping Draco standing in the middle of his flawless ballroom floor.

ooOoo

To be Continued...

ooOoo

**606's Note: So, there it is, the beginning of my first multi-chapter fic that I'm writing all by myself. I don't really know what my posting schedule will be, since I only have three-ish chapters written so far - so maybe one every two weeks or so? We'll see, I suppose. Oh, and, just in case it was unclear for some reason, none of these characters are my own, nor is the universe - it all belongs to the so-utterly-brilliant-it-boggles-my-mind JKR.**


	2. Lesson Two

o

Lesson Two

o

"FUCK!" The half-transformed chair clattered against the wall, not even providing Draco the dignity of bursting into satisfying fragments. The man threw the frustrating, worthless stick he was using as a wand in the same direction as the chair before flopping onto the floor in a puff of dust. Draco sneered at the grey grime floating around him. _No wonder no one ever comes in here – it's filthy._

Blowing a piece of soft, pale hair out of his eyes, Draco stared up at the ceiling of the practically empty bedroom, a long-forgotten memory suddenly popping into his head:

_Draco giggled as he scampered into the old bedroom no one used – apparently his great-grandmother had passed away in here or something. "Draco!" His mum called, light laughter on her voice. "I'm going to find you, my little Dragon!" _

_ The five-year-old covered his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle his voice as his mother grew closer. "I can hear you, Draco…" She cooed as the door to the bedroom creaked open. Draco closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to be seen, pretending as though he was one of those colour-changing lizards his daddy had shown him in a big book from their archives._

_ "Draco!" The blond little boy opened his eyes, startled by the shock and awe in his mother's voice. _

_ "Mummy?"_

_ "You're blue, Draco!" He didn't understand, but he looked down, squeaking when he saw that his skin was a pale cyan, matching the colour of the wallpaper behind him._

_ "Oh, your first magic! Your father will be so proud!" Narcissa beamed as she reached down to hug her son, who squeezed right back, still not completely understanding._

Draco mused on the memory as he leaned back on his hands. Children could do wandless magic, couldn't they? So why couldn't adults? Well, except for Potter, of course. But then again, Potter seemed to be the exception to most rules.

"There is someone being here for Master Draco at the door, sir."

"Very well, Blissy, show them to the parlour room. Oh, and make sure to tidy up in here." Draco slowly got to his feet as the elf scurried out of the chamber. _Now who could be here to see me?_

Draco's footsteps echoed in the dark hallway as he wondered if maybe Potter was mental enough that he'd forgotten their next meeting wasn't until tomorrow. Draco reached the top of the grand staircase, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the dark-haired figure who glared at him from the foyer.

"'bout time you showed your face, you bitch."

Draco grinned. "And it's good to see you too, Pansy."

o

"Well?" Pansy asked when the two Slytherins were comfortably seated in the parlour, steaming cups of tea cradled in their hands.

Draco blinked at her. "'Well' what?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, why the fuck haven't you spoken to me since the Trials? It's been two months, Draco. I don't appreciate you abandoning _me_, your closest friend."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Parkinson–"

"That's rich, coming from _you_."

"Sod off. You know that things have been…complicated around here since then, with Father in France and Mother having to split her time between here and there."

"He still isn't talking to you?"

"Nope." Draco took a sip of his now-lukewarm tea. He set down the cup with a light _clink_, turning his head to look out one of the windows onto the destroyed grounds. "I just wish things could go back to the way they were, sometimes."

Pansy smiled sadly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I know. But, things can't, so why dwell on them?" _Why indeed_, Draco thought.

The pair of friends was quiet for a long moment, both lost in their own musings.

"Alright, Draco, I have to admit that guilt-tripping you about forgetting me was not the only reason I came today." Pansy slipped a hand into the pocket of her black skirt, pulling out an off-white envelope. Her dark-coloured eyes gazed unreadably into Draco's. "This came for me yesterday."

Draco took the letter from her finely-manicured hands, eyebrows furrowing at the eerily familiar script on the front. He slipped out the paper, eyes widening. "'You've been invited back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete your preparations for the N.E.W.T.s examinations in May. If you will be attending in September, please write a response to Professor McGonagall by August 30th.'" Draco stared at the inky green lettering for a long while, feeling Pansy's focused stare on the crown of his bent head. "What the fuck?" He finally whispered.

"I know. It's crazy that they're letting us come back to redo that last year."

"No, it's not that... Why the fuck did you get a letter but I didn't?"

Pansy just looked back at him, surprised. A grandfather clock _ding_-ed loudly in the distance as the shadows began to lengthen in the room.

"Maybe it's because _I_ was never actually a Death Eater, Draco."

Draco didn't have a response to that.

o

Draco lay on the floor of the ballroom, limbs splayed out like a starfish. The feel of dry parchment still ghosted his fingertips. _How can Pansy get a letter but I can't? I didn't think McGonagall of all people would discriminate…_

Draco tilted his head back to watch the entrance, upside-down, when the _clack, clack_ of heavy footsteps approached the ballroom.

"…What are you doing." It was a flat statement.

Draco glared at Potter from the floor, not even surprised that the bastard had seemingly broken into his home. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Potter." Draco checked his watch, an heirloom from his great-uncle. "You're fifteen minutes late, as well."

"We didn't set a time on this, Malfoy. You should be thankful I'm here at all."

Draco rolled his eyes, standing from his prone position. "Yes, _thankful_, that's what I am." Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter's outfit, only then noticing it. "Why are you dressed in full dress robes?"

"'I don't have to explain myself to you,'" Potter said mockingly as he rolled the sleeves of his black robes up past his elbows, revealing toned, tanned forearms. _Well, looks like Potter has finally stopped being such a scrawny git._ In fact, now that Draco really took him in, Potter was just as tall as he was, maybe even a tad taller. When had that happened? _Probably that year he was out saving the world and you were torturing Death Eaters under V-V…the Dark Lord._ "Alright, Malfoy let's get this started, shall we?"

Draco blinked, pulled out of his memories. "Fine. Where shall we begin, O Chosen One?" Potter twitched in discomfort at the name, but didn't comment. Draco smirked.

"Have you preformed any spells successfully since I last saw you?"

Draco tried not to squirm, palming the useless wand in his pocket. "One. I was able to mend a …valuable heirloom when I seemed to destroy it two nights ago."

Potter narrowed his eyes. "Was this object important to you?"

_Ah._ Draco refused to flush. He would rather _crucio_ himself than admit that he'd been devastated when he'd found the disintegrating remains of the blanket he'd been given as a new-born, the dragon-decorated cloth containing so many memories from Draco's innocent youth. He'd felt so relieved when the blanket had actually mended itself when he'd whispered the spell. Maybe this stupid wand was actually alright.

"…Yes."

Potter nodded. "Alright, that makes sense." Potter clapped his hands together, stepping forward to stand exactly opposite Draco. "Pull out your wand, Malfoy." Draco complied, if a bit reluctantly. "Now throw it at me."

"Only too happy too, Potter." Aiming for his face, Draco threw the stick. Potter grinned as it hit some sort of invisible barrier in front of his nose, disintegrating the wood into miniscule fragments of useless history. Draco gaped. "Potter! You just destroyed my wand!" Potter rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, Malfoy. You don't need it any more than I need mine…Which is not at all, if you weren't clear."

Draco stared at him. "Yes, because that was such a _tough_ riddle to crack," he deadpanned as Potter glared slightly.

"Fuck off, Malfoy. It's time for your lessons to really begin. After all, you're going to be learning a completely different way of approaching magic." Draco frowned, not liking the sound of that.

"And how did _you_ learn this way, exactly?"

Potter shrugged infuriatingly. "Taught myself. Wands don't work for me that well anymore, either. According to some Healers, and Hermione, all this magical energy has been building in me and has become unstable – has something to do with being a Horcrux and reflecting too much Dark magic and stuff. I believe Hermione is writing her dissertation for her Healer training on it all, so ask her if you want more specifics." Draco could do nothing more but look at this man, this unreal man who said such strange, horrifying things as though they were almost boring. _Which I guess they are, to him._

Potter clapped his hands together, a determined glint in his eyes. "So let's start already." Potter raised his right hand, his index finger and middle finger pressed together as he drew a curvy shape in front of his face. A long, white feather materialized out of the air, apparently Transfigured from the dust dancing about.

Draco blinked at the blasé way Potter showed off his ability, as though it wasn't an astounding accomplishment in the slightest. Potter dropped the feather on the floor, stepping back. "Okay, Malfoy. Lift it."

"What?" Surely Potter didn't want him to just lean down and pick up the feather.

Potter was giving him that you-are-very-dense look. "The first spell we learned in Charms was _wingardium leviosa_, Malfoy. You are, in a sense, as unfamiliar with _this_ way of doing magic as we were with _that_ way of magic back then. So this is going to be the first spell you will learn wandlessly."

"Fine. So how do I actually preform the spell? Do I have to use a specific finger? Do I require the same movements as the spell, or only the incantation?" Draco wanted Potter to feel just how awful a teacher he was being.

Potter merely shrugged again. Draco's eye twitched dangerously. "I'm pretty sure it's going to be different for you than it was for me. I use two fingers," Potter raised his index finger and middle finger together, "because that seems to be easier to direct the spells for me. You do still use the same movements, so you'll want to move your wrist in that same swish and flick way like with a wand."

"I know how to do a simple Levitation Charm, Potter," Draco snarled. "I don't need your condescending patronage." Potter's eyes narrowed, but didn't respond; he simply crossed his arms and took another step back before gesturing to the mocking feather.

"Go on, then."

Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before he raised his left hand, pointing his index finger at the light object. Clearing his mind, Draco breathed out gently through his nose before muttering the incantation.

The feather remained firmly on the floor.

Draco scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, tucking his worthless hands in the crooks of his body. _If Potter can do this damned spell without even batting an eyelash, why can't I? _Draco flicked his eyes up from the insulting feather, not surprised to find Potter staring at him, disinterested. "Yeah, that's what I thought would happen."

"Don't mock me, Potter. Being nasty doesn't fit your baby-kissing image."

Potter snorted. "My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, _Draco_, so quit being such a prat. Now do the spell again and mean it."

"'Mean' it?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "I must not be speaking in Slytherin terms – put some goddamn feeling into that cold heart of yours and really want to lift that feather, as if the honour of your bloodline or some pureblood supremacy shit depends on it."

Draco just stared back, unconvinced, but eventually turned his eyes back to the snow-white smudge sitting on his cream, marble floor. "Fine." Draco lowered his eyelids, opening that hatch he'd learned to keep closed since he was a child; the door to his emotions seemed weaker than normal, which made since, in a way. Supressed fear and other nameless bursts of intensity bubbled up in his chest, threatening to explode out of him. Draco's eyes sprung open as he channelled all of his raw energy to his extended hand, concentrating solely on the feather.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_" Static seemed to flow through Draco's arm, raising the imperceptibly pale hairs on the outstretched limb. Draco couldn't see the charm as it left his palm, but he could sense it. The feather twitched, as if rustled by an invisible draft of air. It seemed to jump a small bit before it settled back onto the ground.

Draco frowned heavily, disappointed. "Well, it seems the Force _is_ with you, young Jedi." Potter muttered as he lifted a hand, Vanishing the feather.

Draco scrunched up his brow, not understanding. "Did you just insult me, Scarhead?"

Potter sighed, rubbing his forehead. "No, Ferret. It's a Muggle allusion. But whatever: we seem to be making a little bit of progress." A high, shrill noise suddenly emanated from Potter's pocket, and he winced slightly. "Well, I need to be off then. See you next Wednesday."

Draco nodded, still suspicious of Potter's strange words and disappointed that his spell hadn't worked perfectly on the first try. "Fine."

Potter was nearly out of Draco vision when he ducked back into the ballroom's entrance. "Oh, your homework for next week is to get that feather floating flawlessly. It'll take years to get your magic under control if you don't start doing some work on your own."

"Just get out of my house already, Potter!" Draco glared at the condescending man's back as he strolled away, leaving the fuming blonde to himself. _Damn Potter and his smart-arse attitude. I'll show him._

ooOoo

_Cold, unbearable cold. It seeped into his bones, burning a path of pain into his skin. Then fire, a heat so coarse and penetrating Draco knew it was melting his insides. There was laughter, shrill, cracking laughter that came from all directions, scarlet eyes that held an abyss of never-ending black, threatening to overtake Draco's very sou–_

"NO!"

Draco's eyes slammed open, only for him to wince them shut again as light blinded him. Heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest, Draco forced himself to take deep breathes, averting his mind by recounting all that he needed to do that day: Owl Mother, practice that damn spell, try to avoid the temptation of sending Potter a cursed letter – eventually his heart-rate slowed. Draco gently peaked open his eyes again, adjusting to the brightness of morning. He stared at his ceiling, suddenly dumbstruck.

Hundreds and hundreds of feathers stared back at him from their lofty perch.

o

After sending a quick owl to his mother, filled with meaningless words about how 'well' his lesson with Potter had gone and how things were peaceful around the Manor, Draco made his way to the Malfoy library, the high-domed labyrinth of bookshelves and lore a favourite haunting from Draco's youth.

Dust billowed from the room as Draco pushed open the ornately-decorated doors. He coughed, correctly guessing that the room was low on Blissy's priorities now that she was the only house-elf under the Malfoy's jurisdiction.

Fuzzy, intangible sunlight spilled into the room from the dominating windows lining the wall across from the entrance, illuminating the sparse signs of absentee inhabitants: a pile of well-loved, faded books by one of the three olive-coloured settees; a handsome fireplace sitting unlit, looking as though its great mouth was yawning; a glass of sticky bourbon, forgotten long ago by a brooding thinker. Draco passed all of these by, heading to the back left corner of the library, where the few texts regarding magical children were hidden.

Pulling off a few large volumes, and a few bare wisps of books, Draco settled on the rich, wooden floor, leaning back against one of the shelves as he began his pursuit of knowledge.

o

"Draco? Your elf said you were in here after I forced her to let me in."

Draco blinked rapidly, only beginning to feel the stiffness of his back and the strain of his eyes from delving into too many works. "Pansy?" Draco coughed, his voice rough with dust and disuse: the sunlight was gone, replaced by dusky shades of red and violet.

Pansy's head popped out from behind one of the aisles of shelves, peering down at Draco with amusement. "I can remember when we used to play catch-the-Mudblood in here; you were always better at it than me." Draco smiled weakly, memories of competition, laughter, and naivety ghosting through is mind, as foreign as if they were from another life. He shrugged in response, a faint sense of mistrust rising in him when Pansy gracefully settled next to him on the floor, scrutinising his books curiously.

"'_So Your Child's a Wizard'_? Draco, is there something you need to tell me?" Pansy's voice was laced with humour, with the mildest tint of concern.

Draco rolled his eyes, standing to return the volumes back to their places. "Just a little research, Pans. Nothing to worry about." The girl raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but knew when to choose her battles.

"Fine. I'm not here to talk about your weird reading habits, anyways. Have you heard from McGonagall yet?"

"…No. Why would I? I thought we reached the conclusion that Hogwarts wasn't going to be sending me anything."

"Well, we did, but… Theo, Blaise, and Greg got theirs too."

Draco paused.

"Really." It wasn't a question. He resumed putting the books away. "Seems like I'm the only one to not receive an invitation back to that bloody school then; good, it's not like I wanted to return to that hell-hole anyways."

Pansy leant against a shelf, crossing her arms against the front of her black robes. "…Right."

But they both knew that wasn't what any of this really meant.

ooOoo

"_Wingardium leviosa._"

Nothing.

"_Wingardium leviosa!_"

Barely even a flutter.

"_WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!_"

The feather laughed at him.

Draco's eye twitched, his fingers twisting into a fist as he stared at the lone object sitting on the ballroom floor. _You have to _mean_ it, Ferret_, Potter's voice said in his mind. _Fuck off_, he told the aggravating mirage.

But Draco tried, closing his eyes and raising his hand to point his fingers at the feather. He tried pinpointing the most volatile part of his emotions – _Theo, Blaise and Greg got theirs too… My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, Draco, so quit being such a prat… You don't deserve to be called a Malfoy, not with that disgusting way of living…_ – and felt the liquid heat boil in his chest. He then stared at the feather with startlingly potent intensity.

"_Wingardium leviosa_," he muttered, knowing somewhere in his bones that the spell was going to work perfectly as mild shocks ran down his outstretched arm.

And it did work perfectly: the feather drifted lazily to the ceiling, following the movements of Draco's hand. The boy laughed, feeling the first real rush of accomplishment in a long time.

Draco proceeded to lift all of the objects he could find in the hallways around the ballroom, feeling as though he'd finally found the answer to this wandless magic: fury. And lots of it.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Lesson Three will be up in two weeks. :)**


	3. Lesson Three

o

Lesson Three

o

Draco grinned smugly as the chair floated weightlessly into the air, casting a shadow on Potter's body. "Well, seems you've learned that one," Potter finally said. "Let's move on, then."

Draco felt crestfallen for a small moment, disappointed at Potter's lack of enthusiasm for his pupil's progress, but then the Slytherin berated himself. _Why should I care if Potter cares? Because I don't_. "Fine. What spell is next, Professor Potter?" Draco sneered mockingly, something continuing to sting when Potter didn't even raise an eyebrow at the jab.

"Let's do _accio_ next."

"Why that one?"

"Because it's helped me in many bad situations, Malfoy, and I like the charm." Potter help out his hand, a crash sounding far off in the bowels of the house before the doors to the ballroom sprung open and a small book came soaring through the air, landing in Potter's palm. Potter smirked slightly. "You still have a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_?" Draco glared at him. "Well, go on then, Summon it."

Draco's mouth twitched into a mean smile. The anger was easier to find this time, considering such a wonderful source of inspiration was standing right in front of him. "_Accio!_" Draco said as he held out his palm. He grinned sharply, showing all of his bright, even teeth, when the book flew right into his hand, and he enjoyed watching Potter's eyebrow rise in surprise. "This isn't so hard, Potter."

Potter was quiet for a while, watching Draco with narrowed eyes. "What were you thinking when you cast that spell?" Potter rolled his eyes when Draco just blinked back at him blankly. "What were you feeling? What sort of emotions?"

Draco's heart skipped a beat in panic for some reason. _How did he know so quickly?_ Draco wondered whether to tell the truth, or come up with some snarky response. "…Anger, mostly." He blinked, surprised with himself.

Potter frowned. "That's what I thought." He sighed, rubbing a hand wearily across his forehead. The action made him seem older than his eighteen years. Draco felt some sort of self-deprecating emotion when Potter's green eyes met his again. "You can't fuel every spell with anger, Malfoy. It's too unstable, not to mention that it doesn't last very long."

"Well, it's worked so far, Potter. What makes you show sure I can't continue to make it work?"

"I just know, Malfoy!" Potter said sharply, almost yelling. Draco tensed in surprise, ready for a fight. Potter took a deep breath, tapping his fingers against his leg in what Draco guessed was an anger-management technique. "So, to prove this to you, we'll try a spell that can't be summoned with anger: the Patronus Charm."

Draco frowned, a small bit of self-loathing seeping into his chest. "I couldn't do a Patronus Charm _with_ a wand, Potter. There's no way I could do it now."

Potter grimaced, a strange mix of a hateful smile and a pitying glare. "Well, that's what I'm here for, Malfoy."

o

"Again!"

Draco racked his brain, trying to think of any glimmer of happiness that might be strong enough to defeat the shimmering mirage of a Dementor that floated a few meters in front of him. Bright flashes of early Hogwarts days briefly lit up his mind, but extinguished themselves quickly as the dark, looming figure of sixth year shadowed them all.

"Now, Malfoy!"

Draco gritted his teeth, rage welling up in him. He randomly thought of the day he'd been Sorted, that flush of pride that had filled him when the raggedy hat had called out 'Slytherin!' – but thoughts of his father suddenly swarmed the memory. _But Father doesn't love me anymore, not like he did back then…_

"Damnit, Malfoy, do the bloody spell!"

Something in Draco snapped. "_STUPEFY!_" Potter went soaring through the air, his body slamming against the glass windows with a dull, slightly sickening _thud_. Draco stared at Potter's crumpled form, then at his hands. He suddenly burst out laughing, the giggles boarding on hysterical.

Potter groaned, picking himself off of the floor, glaring at the sniggering blonde. "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

Draco slowly stopped laughing, wiping his eyes. Something felt satisfied in his chest. "You deserved it, Potter. And you're certainly giving me plenty of fodder to use for all of these spells."

"You're not supposed to be using anger, Malfoy! One day it won't work, and you'll get someone seriously hurt!" Draco sobered immediately, his curiosity piqued as he looked into those enraged green eyes.

"Are you speaking from experience, Potter?" The dark-haired man didn't reply, but his aversion of his gaze was as good of an answer. "I see."

"No, you don't _see_, Malfoy, so just shut up and do the goddamn spell."

"It's a little hard to be fucking happy when you stand there shouting at me! You're a worse teacher than my Aunt Bella!"

"…Did you just compare me to Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Yes. And, trust me, it's an accurate comparison." Draco expected some sort of curse, maybe a punch across the face if Potter was feeling particularly barbaric. He didn't expect Potter's weary sigh, or the unclenching of the imposing body.

"Alright, I'll admit I'm being an arse. Let's start over, shall we?" Draco blinked, a little suspicious and bemused. Potter suddenly stuck out his hand, "Hi, I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Draco stared at the weathered, scarred palm, the faint lines of 'I must not tell lies' etched on the back. "I'm not sure we can go back that far, Potter." The Chosen One looked upset for a split second before smirking sadly.

"Yeah, I guess you're ri–"

"But I suppose we can try," Draco cut him off, reaching out to grasp the warm hand in his own chilly one. "Salutations, Harry Potter. I'm Draco Malfoy." Potter was clearly shocked, his grip loose for a long moment before he squeezed Draco's much softer hand right back.

Draco couldn't help but notice how charming Potter's crooked smile was.

o

"Okay, so how does this work now that we're…acquaintances?" Draco sat on the black marble countertops in the Manor's spacious kitchen, watching Potter take in the opulent elegance of the room. The pureblood sipped at his tea, kicking his expensive shoes against the cabinets in a child-like manner that his mother would've reprimanded him for.

Potter shrugged, leaning against the dual ovens. "The same, I suppose. Except I'll try not to be such an arse and you have to try not to be such a prat."

"What a great way to start off our acquaintanceship, Potter," Draco glared at the man, who only grinned in reply before sipping his own cuppa. The two men sat in a companionable silence, both jumping in surprise when a sharp whistle rang through the air of the kitchen, and a small door in the corner was flung open.

Blissy froze at the sight of her master and Potter. "M-Master Draco is needing Blissy, sir?"

"Oh, not at all, Blissy. We just came in for some tea. Potter, meet Blissy, our house-elf."

Potter grinned, leaning down to hold out a hand for Blissy to shake. Her whole body began to tremble in awe. "H-Harry Potter, sir! Blissy is hearing amazing things, sir! Blissy's friend, Hemmy, is being at Hogwarts during the Battle, sir!"

"Oh, well, thank you, Blissy. Sorry if we're in your way in here."

"Not at all, Harry Potter, sir! Blissy is going now, sir! Lunch is being ready soon, Mister Harry Potter and Master Draco!" The house-elf scurried out the door, leaving an amused pair of men in her wake.

"Gosh, you make all the girls blush, don't you, Potter?"

Potter rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Sod off, Malfoy." The Gryffindor turned up the sleeve of his simple black shirt, frowning slightly as he glanced at his watch. "Well, I suppose I should be going. I'll see you next Wednesday," Potter said with an encouraging smile.

"Right. Unless –" Potter raised his eyebrows in question. Draco cleared his throat, hopping off the counter before continuing. "The day after tomorrow is the summer solstice and I suppose we could continue our quest for acquaintanceship by celebrating it together."

Potter blinked. "You celebrate the summer solstice?"

"You don't?" Draco was flabbergasted. "Potter, it's only the second-biggest holiday of the year for wizarding kind!"

"Oh, well, I've never celebrated it before."

"It's fun. We go dancing naked in the fields under the light of hundreds of fairies."

Potter's mouth gaped.

Draco sniggered. "I'm joking, Potter! It's actually a really fascinating day, considering most magical plants are more potent during that period, so potions can work wonders as well. We also light a giant bonfire at the end of the day – according to Muggle lore, it's supposed to ward off dragons and witches and all sorts of magical creatures, not to mention you can jump over it to keep witches away." Draco shrugged, an ironic smile on his face. "The fire really does nothing but look wicked." Draco paused, wondering if he forgot anything. "Oh! There are also a bunch of rituals you can do to look into the future and increase fertility and stuff. Apparently Seers make most of their money tomorrow."

Potter looked impressed. "Wow. I wonder why I've never heard of this before."

"Well, didn't you live with a Muggle family during most of your summers? I thought I heard that somewhere."

Potter's face twisted slightly, and the conversation was over. "Well, thanks for the invitation, Malfoy. I don't think I have any plans, but I'll have to see." Draco felt put-out for some reason.

"Ah, alright. Well, if you have time, just show up here sometime after noon on the 21st – all the celebrations really start at dusk, but you have to prepare." Potter nodded once before sharing a small smile, then he walked out the door.

Draco wondered why he was hoping that Potter would spend tomorrow night with him.

_How odd._

ooOoo

"Well?"

"What?"

"Hon, don't act obtuse, it's not flattering." Draco sat his cup down on the table, trying to supress his annoyed sigh. He looked over at Blaise, who only shrugged, unwilling to come between the two.

"Pansy, I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied. He didn't meet her blazing eyes, instead staring out at the budding flowers surrounding them, feeling the warm sunlight streaming through the conservatory roof on his face.

"Yes, you do – I know that you're hiding something from me! You have that weird glow to your cheeks and everything. You're even wearing your _gay-boy shoes_, Draco," she declared as though that proved her theory. Draco looked down at his white loafers, the silver buckle shining happily in the light. _Gay-boy shoes?_

"So look me in the eyes and try to tell me that you're not shagging anyone right now." Draco leaned forward in his chair to stare completely at Pansy. Blaise snorted lightly next to her, watching the two silently.

"I. Am. Not. Shagging. Anyone. Happy?" Pansy pouted, distinctly unhappy.

"Fine. I still don't believe you, but I'll let it go." _Right_. Like Pansy even possessed the ability to 'let things go.' "So, are you coming over tomorrow for the Solstice? Daddy's ordering some Chinese wizards to perform a fireworks show."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. "No, sorry, Pans. I'm staying here tomorrow."

"You sure, Dray-Dray? You shouldn't celebrate the Solstice all alone," Blaise piped up.

"Call me 'Dray-Dray' again and I'll disembowel you. And, yes, I'm sure. I should stick around in case Mother fire-calls me." It was a lame excuse, even to Draco's ears, but his two closest friends accepted it, changing the subject to less pressing matters.

"So, Pansy says that you still haven't gotten your Hogwarts letter." It wasn't a question, so Draco didn't respond, but something acrimonious bit at the back of his throat. "Do you want us to owl someone about it? It's not right, you know. She can't discriminate against you like this."

Draco sighed. "Of course she can, Blaise. I was a _Death Eater_ – the world can do anything it bloody likes to me now, and I have no power to stop them." Draco smiled coldly.

"After all, a war never really ends for those who lost."

ooOoo

Draco woke up on the 21st bursting with energy, a rare occurrence for the eighteen-year-old. He jumped out of bed, quickly bathed, then spent the next two hours trying to pick out the right outfit. Typical.

Finally happy with his choices (a tight but comfortable set of black trousers and a thinly striped jumper for the unusually cool summer), Draco bounded to the back entrance of the Manor, taking a deep breath of the dry, pleasantly warm air as he stepped onto the terrace.

"Time to get to work, then," he flashed a boyish smile at the unresponsive gardens.

o

As shadows began to lengthen, Draco couldn't help but raise his hopes every time Blissy would pass in front of him, something inside his chest feeling let down when there were no new visitors. The sky faded into glorious coral pinks, clementine oranges, and lilac purples, and Draco's mood couldn't help but souring.

_So I ended up spending Solstice alone, it's not _that_ embarrassing_, he tried to argue to himself, unsuccessfully. As the sun finally hid under the skyline, Draco sighed, heading out to the large bonfire he'd erected in the clearing behind the Manor.

The crisp, welcoming air ruffled the tousled, work-strewn hairs on his head, and blew the smells of the outdoors into his senses. The Malfoy heir stood on the stone pathway, staring at the large chunks of ceremonial wood that lay in the marble alcove his ancestors had built just for this holiday. Draco took a long swing of the Firewhiskey in his hand, aching memories of charring bodies flickering across his mind.

"Fuck," he cursed as the liquid burned down his throat, making his eyes water; he'd never been much of a drinker. As ambitious crickets began welcoming the night around him, Draco held out his empty hand, filling his thoughts with the bitter tang of disappointment and self-directed loathing. "_Incendio!_" Flames licked at the kindling, similar heat lapping at Draco's insides as he took another drink from the bottle in his hand.

"I thought I told you to stop casting spells with anger." Draco jumped, stumbling an infinitesimal amount when he turned to face the voice.

"Potter! You…" Draco didn't finish the sentence. _You scared me? You actually showed up?_ Neither one was good, so Draco just blinked at the unamused-looking man. He mentally collected himself under the gaze of those green irises, clearing his throat. "Yes, well, I wasn't feeling particularly joyous, so anger just seemed easier."

Potter's brow furrowed as he pulled his hands out of the pockets of his Oxford pullover, raising them in a reasoning gesture. "Malfoy, that's not the point. You shouldn't use anger simply because it's _easy_; just because an option is easy doesn't mean it's the best or safest way to do something." Draco sighed, bored with this argument.

He held out the half-empty bottle to Potter, lifting an eyebrow. "Drink, Potter? Sounds like you need one." Potter simply glared at him for a long moment, his famous, attractive face cast in the shadows of the dying sunlight.

Then the man sighed. "Fine. Thanks, Malfoy. I guess I am in the mood to get pissed," he admitted as he took the bottle, the rich brew filling his mouth. He silently passed it back to Draco.

"So…Solstice, huh? What do we do now?"

Draco shrugged lightly, feeling pliable. "If you were a young maiden we could do some rituals to look into the future and see your husband, or if you wanted to increase your fertility I could make a really powerful potion; but most wizarding families simply feast and socialize and celebrate." Draco smiled into the indulgent firelight that was slowly but surely becoming the main light source. "When I was a child, my parents would throw famously formal Solstice galas: my mother would get out her black diamonds, my father would spend hours creasing his robes perfectly, and when the sun set I'd be forced into painfully pristine dress robes for a seven-year-old, and I'd be told to keep them clean at all costs." He chuckled fondly at the warm memory. "But somehow, every time, I'd end up with stains all over my clothes from sneaking around with Pansy and Theo throughout the night, stealing food from the house-elves and playing games in the gardens."

Crickets hummed in the background, and the fire crackled merrily in the middle of the extensive grounds. "But I suppose that was a long time ago."

"Well, it sounds like you had some fun times," Potter finally added, gesturing for another share of the Firewhiskey. Draco nodded, his smile turning crooked as Potter winced at a particularly strong sip of the alcohol. "But I don't suppose we could steal food and play all night now."

Draco blinked at the man's wistful tone. "…And why not?"

"Huh?"

Liquid courage coursed through Draco's veins as he turned to fully face his confused acquaintance. "Why can't we act like children tonight, Potter? It's the Solstice, for Merlin's sake, and we're only eighteen."

"Seventeen," Potter interjected.

"Be quiet. Anyways, why can't we? It's not like anyone can tell us otherwise!" Draco felt powerful, confident as he watched Potter mull the idea over. He was on the right edge of light-headed, and anything seemed possible.

"Alright, Malfoy," Potter finally said as a slow smirk crept across his lips. "Let's be seven-year-old kids again. Show me what to do," he gestured with an open palm, one hand still grasping the source of their courage.

Draco beamed.

o

"Wait, what exactly we playin', again?" Potter slurred quietly from his crouched position next to Draco. The blonde peered over the dying hedge, his silvery-blond hair shining in the moonlight and the glow of the bonfire meters away.

"For the _third_ time, Potter, it's called Catch-the-Mud…gleborn, so shush."

"'Mudgleborn?' What's a Mudgleborn?" Potter smirked up at Draco, who pouted.

"Fuck off! And…wait a moment, you're supposed to be hiding, Potter! After all, this round you're the –"

"Mudgleborn?" Potter innocently finished for him. The two men burst out laughing, Draco clutching the spindly limbs of the hedge for balance while Potter slouched onto the yellow-tinged grass underneath him. "Fuck, we're shitfaced, huh?" Potter gasped for breath on the lawn.

Draco sniffed condescendingly before stealing the almost-empty bottle of Firewhiskey from Potter's grasp. "I have no idea to what you are referring to, Potter. I am not sloshed in the slightest," he specified before finishing the whole lot.

"That rhymes!" Potter hiccupped hysterically. Draco giggled before plopping down on the ground with his once-enemy, staring up at the velvety sky. The moon smirked down judgementally, while its shining cronies laughed at him. Okay, so maybe he was plastered.

Draco yawned widely, reaching up to rub his eyes in a child-like manner. "Wha'timeisit?" He mumbled aloud. Potter didn't respond, his eyes staring up at those same stars, no doubt seeing something different from Draco.

"Ya know, I was runnin' from Voldie for so long, yet I never sat down and just stared at the stars – it's beautiful," Potter whispered into the blanketing night, causing Draco to look at the man's profile curiously.

Draco's arm reached out, his hand landing firmly on Potter's forehead. "Oi! Whaddafuck, M'foy?" Potter's muffled, irritated voice came from underneath Draco's palm as he shoved it off his face, fixing his smudged, crooked glasses.

Draco shrugged, unrepentant. "'as just checkin' you were real."

"Huh?"

But Draco didn't elaborate, merely soaked in the sensation of prickly, tickling grass brushing his exposed neck, ankles, and toes. Where had his shoes gone, exactly?

"Do'ya ever miss the war, M'foy?" Draco blinked hard, staring unseeingly at the sky as screams echoed in his mind and he could feel the blood on his hands.

"I miss the time 'fore it," Draco whispered truthfully, tearing up grass in his hands.

Potter grunted. "Yeah, me too. It w'all so _simple_, ya'know?"

"Exactly! Maybe y'do have a brain in that skull of 'ours, Potty."

"Shut up, Ferret." Draco simply grinned as his eyelids descended over his vision, heaviness invading all of his limbs.

"I'm sleepy," the heir declared to the world before curling up on his side and pillowing his head into his arms. The last thing the boy heard was Potter's soft "'night, Malfoy" before he was fast asleep.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Lesson Four in two weeks! :) **


	4. Lesson Four

o

Lesson Four

o

"-ster Draco, sir! Master Draco, sir! There is being a red man at the door, sir!"

Draco grumbled sleepily as he slowly began to register his five senses. What the hell was that taste in his mouth? "'Red man'?" He repeated confusedly as he opened his eyes, squinting at the piercing light, a harsh throbbing in the back of his skull.

Blissy blinked up at him from beside the bed, looking anxious. "Yes, sir! There is being a red man, sir! He is saying he is needing to seeing Harry Potter, sir! He is saying he is being a Weezly, sir!" Draco frowned, rubbing dried saliva off his cheek. _Why is Weasley here?_ _And why am I wearing my clothes from yesterday while lying in bed?_ _And _what_ is that warmth pressed against my knee?_

"Wha'timeis't?"

_Ah. _

"Damnit, Potter, wake up! And why the hell are you in my bed?" Draco yelped indignantly as he scrambled out of his silk sheets, suddenly very glad that he was still wearing his outfit from the Solstice. The sleepy Saviour of the Wizarding World glared as he sat up, his glasses skewed dangerously and his hair an even more extreme mess than normal.

"How the hell would I know, Malfoy? It's your bed!"

"That doesn't make this my problem!" Draco argued hysterically as he frantically tried to straighten his hair. "And apparently your Weasel is trying to force his way into my house, no doubt looking for you, so get your arse out of here!" Potter looked confused for a moment, then very resigned.

"Right." Potter stood, straightening his rumpled clothes and running a hand through the hopeless nest of bed-head. "Well, I'd say 'thanks' for having me over for the night if you weren't being so bloody rude, so see you, Malfoy."

Potter stormed out of Draco's sunlit bedroom, leaving Blissy and her master behind. Draco stared at the open doorway for a long moment before sighing. _Grow up, Draco. You're trying _not_ to antagonize Potter, remember?_

"Potter, wait!" Draco called out from the top of the stairs as he chased after his irate guest-acquaintance-tutor-person. Potter stopped at the bottom of the flight, his tense back facing Draco. The Slytherin slowed, tentatively approaching his once-enemy as though nearing an angry animal. "Look, I…apologize. It was just a little unsettling to wake up with the Chosen One sleeping next to you, especially the morning after the Solstice."

Potter turned slightly, looking over his shoulder with those sharp, green eyes. "Why 'especially the morning after the Solstice'?"

Draco blinked. "Well, the Solstice is known for its…sensual correlations, so shagging with strangers is pretty common. Just never really thought I'd be sharing an awkward morning after with Harry Potter himself."

Potter frowned, but it was softer around the edges. He puffed out a deep breath. "Yeah, alright, Malfoy, I understand. And thanks, I guess, for supplying all the drinks and shit last night – it was a pretty good Solstice, from what I remember," Potter said with a reassuring smile, reaching out to pat a warm hand onto Draco's bony shoulder.

"-TO SAVE YOU, MATE!" Ron Weasley yelled with righteous anger as the front doors finally gave way to his spells, blasting open forcefully. Draco and Potter blinked at Weasley, who blinked back, mouth agape. Draco was immediately hyperaware of Potter's hand still spreading warmth into his chest, and the way that the two of them looked rather dishevelled in an easily misunderstood way. "Harry?" Weasley asked weakly, his wand hand twitching with indecision.

Potter cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping back from Draco and stowing his hand in his pocket. "Ron. Some reason you're breaking into Malfoy's house at eight in the morning?"

Weasley gawked for another moment until he snapped his mouth closed and glared at Potter. "We tried visiting your place last night, mate, but you were gone. Ginny was worried sick, Harry; and here I find you…shacking up with _Malfoy_?" Weasley's voice rose in outrage as Potter winced slightly, while Draco tried to fade quietly into the white wallpaper behind him.

"I'm not 'shacking up' with anyone, Ron, don't be rid–"

A loud _CRACK!_ sounded from outside the swinging front doors. "Ron! I told you not to come here until I heard – Oh, hi, Harry, Malfoy." Hermione Granger blinked in surprise as she stepped into the Manor's foyer. Draco winced internally. _Great, now the gang's all here._

"Hermione, they were…touching and stuff!" Weasley whined with outraged as Potter choked on argumentative noises behind him. Granger's eyebrows rose into her bushy brown hair and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingertips, trying to ward off a headache.

"Weasley, Potter and I are _not_ shag–"

"I am not cheating on your sister with _Malfoy_, Ron! The idea that –"

Draco and Potter both began severely spouting their arguments, with Granger watching them both with a calculating glint in her eye. She held up a hand for silence, which the men in the room obeyed. "Look, Ron, I'm sure Harry has a perfectly good reason for why we are finding him here on a day other than a Wednesday," _Potter told them about the lessons?_ ", and we should listen to his explanation. Harry?"

All eyes turned to Potter, who stared at his two closest friends, speechless for a while. "Well," he finally began weakly, "Malfoy invited me to spend Solstice here, and I wanted to know how wizarding families celebrated it, so…"

"_We're_ a wizarding family! Why would you spend such a backward holiday with someone like Malfoy?" Weasley sneered with distaste, as though Draco wasn't in the room. The Slytherin could feel angry, boiling blood rise to his cheeks.

"It's not a 'backward holiday,' Ron, and I think it was kind of Draco to invite Harry over for the Solstice. I'm sure this falls into their contract of trying to be civil – an example you should try to imitate," Granger finished pointedly, glaring softly at her boyfriend, who looked cowed. "However, Harry," she turned her all-knowing eyes on her guilty-looking comrade, "it was a bad idea to simply vanish without a word – especially when Ron is prone to paranoia about Draco murdering you or something."

Potter looked contrite, rubbing a hand through the fly-away hairs climbing down the top of his neck. "Yeah, alright. Sorry," the Saviour of wizarding Britain mumbled quietly, acting as though he was a child caught eating biscuits before supper. Granger nodded, smiling slightly before she turned her eyes to Draco.

She cleared her throat, awkwardness finally starting to impact the brains of the Golden Trio, apparently. "Well, we're sorry for impeding on your hospitality like this, Malfoy. Ron and I will just go now." Weasley looked as though he wanted to argue that point, but a quick look from Granger and he was quiet.

The two turned and made their way out of the broken front entrance, the buddings of a disagreement floating through the air before they Disapparated away.

The Manor was quiet once again.

"…They're at the 'fight or fuck' phase of their relationship," Potter finally stated, staring after his departed friends.

Draco winced. "I did not need to know about Granger and Weasley's sexual proclivities, Potter."

Potter turned a wry smile on him. "Yeah, I wish I didn't know." He shuddered good-naturedly before returning his hands in his bedraggled pockets. "Well, I suppose I'll see you on Wednesday, right?"

"…Right," Draco confirmed, sharing an odd little smile with Potter before he was heading in the same direction as his friends.

He turned right before he was out of sight. "Don't forget to practice your Patronus, Malfoy – I'll know if you slack off!"

"Get off my land, Potter!" But Draco was grinning, and Potter laughed as he Disapparated.

Draco purposely didn't think about the warm flicker in the pit of his stomach.

ooOoo

"…Can you produce a Patronus?"

Pansy looked up from where she was gracefully spread across the antique couch, filing her nails with a charm she'd invented herself. Hot, late-June sunlight fell into the library, the place Draco had been spending more and more time lately as he delved into the complexities of magical theory and its relation to wandless abilities.

"Yeah. Daddy had a tutor come in and teach me before sixth year." The girl curled her mouth into a poisonous grin. "He was a good shag too. But, yeah, he eventually got around to teaching me."

"What does yours look like?"

"…If you weren't my best friend, that question would be too personal to answer."

Draco lifted his eyes from the text he'd been staring at unseeingly, interest piqued at Pansy's warning tone. "Really? Why?" Pansy rolled her eyes at her clueless companion.

"Sometimes I wonder how people think you're so smart, Dray-Dray." Draco pouted mockingly at her, still expecting an answer. The other Slytherin sighed dramatically, as was their way. "A person's Patronus represents the embodiment of all of the positive qualities of that individual – don't you see how asking what someone's soul looks like might be a little personal?"

Draco pondered this a while before nodding. "Yeah, I understand. Are you going to tell me what yours looks like yet?"

Pansy frowned a little before pointing her wand next to the couch, whispering the incantation before a great, shining mass began to expand out of the end of the cherry-coloured wood. The alligator blinked one of its luminescent eyes at Draco before snapping its jaw at him. Draco blinked is surprise.

"You're a…crocodile."

Pansy scowled defensively as the beast faded away. "An _alligator_, so back off if you don't want me to bite you." Draco grinned at her sulky silhouette as she sunk back down into her sprawl on her seat, moodily beginning to file her nails again.

Draco dropped the subject, knowing when to not prod his friend, and turned back to the tome propped up against his legs:

"_Recent studies (see Anecdote 201 for more details to Briar and Hankins's results (1845), and the trials of Professor Juntley (1899)) show that a strong correlation between childhood magical expression (CME) and high emotional statuses. This researcher theorises that stronger emotions like love, hatred and terror can lead to extreme cases of CME, as cases have shown some with as high of a level of power as those of a class three wizard (See Arkens' _The Wizard Within_, 1902 and Gergun's _The Ages of Misteri_, 1589). (See Anecdote 34 for more details regarding the classification of wizarding power levels and the recent literature related.)_"

Draco frowned at the yellowing pages of text, the scrawl blurring as his thoughts drifted. If it seemed as though children could perform wandless magic more strongly with more intense emotions like anger, why was Potter constantly blathering on about how rage was the wrong motivation? Wouldn't these spells remain more difficult to enact as long as Draco was attempting to remain calm while casting them?

"Well, darling, I can tell I've lost you to the words again, so I'm leaving." Pansy stood, walking over and pressing a dainty kiss to Draco's cheek before she was heading out the door. "But one of these days you are going to tell me what you have been so focused on these past weeks," she warned as she faded out of sight.

Draco grimaced at her back. At least that day wasn't today.

ooOoo

"So…talked to your dad recently?" Draco turned his head to glare at Theo, his dark-haired companion staring at him with sympathy.

"No, I haven't, Nott, so just leave it alone." Theo raised his hands in surrender, plopping down on his back next to Draco on the bed. The two ex-Housemates stared at the artistic rendering of the Manor on the ceiling.

"Are you going back?" Draco quietly asked the air. Theo knew what he meant.

"Yeah. I need those N.E. if I'm going to get a good job somewhere… Not to mention Mum would _crucio_ me if I didn't." Draco's head twitched into a small nod. Envy and resentment bubbled in his abdomen.

"Draco, why don't you just contact McGonagall? She might–"

"Don't feed me bullshit like Pans or Blaise, Theo. We know each other too well to do that," Draco pointed out heatedly, twisting his fingers in his black duvet. Theo stared at him with searching eyes before nodding tightly.

"Yeah, you're right. Sorry." Draco grumbled forgiveness. "I just hate the idea of you being holed up here in the Manor while the rest of us return to Hogwarts."

"You know, staying here is probably easier than going back. You do realize your lives are going to be hell, right? Especially for people like you and me." Draco reached over, pulling up Theo's sleeve to reveal the tip of the Mark on his forearm.

Theo's mouth twisted cynically. "Yeah. But how will things ever change if we stay hidden away all the time? I paid my debts, Draco. I don't have any reason to be ashamed of my choices anymore." Theo reached over to touch Draco's Mark, but the blonde pulled his arm away, not making eye contact with his now-frowning friend.

"…Do we need to talk about something, Draco?"

Draco turned his head to narrow his eyes at Theo. "Like what?"

"Like how you seem to hiding yourself in here, or how you're still acting as though you're guilty for all of the things that happened in the war? _Or_ how you seem to be pulling away from your friends? Even _me_!"

"No, we don't need to talk. About anything." Draco restarted his staring contest with the wall so that he wouldn't have to see Theo's disappointed expression.

"…Fine." Draco felt the bed shift as Theo regained his balance on the floor. "Draco." The boy sat up, finally making eye-contact. "You should – no, you _need_ to talk to someone. About Hogwarts, and about everything else. Even if that someone isn't me." Theo said earnestly before leaning down to press a kiss to Draco's mouth. Draco turned his head at the last moment, so Theo's gentle lips brushed the soft skin of his cheek instead.

Theo straightened, regarding Draco's flushed face with an intrigued look. The two had kissed each other good-bye ever since they'd dated back in fifth year, even after they'd split up months after; it was a simple sign of intimacy that two people who knew so much about the other could do easily. "Draco are you…dating someone?" Theo asked with a grin.

Draco whipped his head to scowl at the other boy, opening his mouth to protest before closing it again. His cheeks felt hot as Theo laughed at him. "NO, I am not, Theodore! So stop laughing!"

"Oh Merlin, this is too precious. Little Dray-Dray, arse over tit for some poor bloke! Oh, I never took you as one for monogamy, Draco," Theo giggled hysterically as he kneeled over, resting his hands on his kneecaps. Draco got up on his knees, leaning over to forcefully push Theo's bent body, causing the taller boy to fall onto his arse. He still laughed from his sprawled position.

"Well, who is it?" Draco glowered.

"I'm not seeing anyone!"

"Come on, tell me! I promise I won't tell Pansy," Theo said with a seductive grin that had once caused Draco to melt inside.

"No! I'm not!"

"Well, at least tell me it's a bloke, right? You're not going through another sexual crisis, right?" Theo pulled a face, remembering the last one vividly.

"Yes, it's – I mean, I'm not dating anyone!" Draco floundered as Theo laughed delightedly. Draco raised his hand, feeling the _thump_ of his heart and the adrenaline rushing through his system. He murmured a quick incantation and Theo popped out of the air, disappearing in front of Draco's eyes.

The exhausted boy fell onto his bed with a groan, knowing that Theo would be sending him an angry owl about the forced departure soon enough. Draco blew a few strands of blond hair out of his eyes, feeling a squirming sensation in his stomach.

_I do _not_ fancy him. Obviously. We're barely acquaintances._

Something in Draco sunk slightly.

_That's right. I'm a job to him._

ooOoo

It was a misty Wednesday, the moisture in the air acting as though it was too lazy to coalesce into real drops. Draco stood facing the stretching windows in the ballroom, his hands on his slender hips. He scowled at his reflection, trying to reach into the deep folds and creases of his memories.

According to the texts he'd read and from Potter, he needed some extremely potent, happy memories to fuel this spell. _Good luck with that_, his mind deadpanned. Draco shushed his pessimistic side and closed his eyes, trying to recall something, anything that made that warmth appear in his chest.

_"Come on, Draco," Clyde beckoned gently with his dragon-hide glove, patting the vacant seat on the broom in front of him. Six-year-old Draco wrung his fingers together, biting his lip nervously. His father had hired Clyde to teach Draco the basics of flying from the earliest age possible, as was tradition with the Malfoy's. _

_ Clyde's roguish smile softened, and his Scottish accent was warm and strong. "Come on, Draco. Nothin' feels better than flyin'. It's a power you'll never feel anywhere else." Draco peered up at Clyde's hazel gaze, straightening his back with courage from deep within his chest._

_ With a little help, his childishly soft body was straddling the broom, Clyde's chest pressing heat into his back. "We're gonna kick off now, alright?" Clyde warned before they were soaring into the air, stinging winter air running its cold hands across Draco's pink cheeks._

_ Draco laughed, amazed as the Manor shrunk beneath them, the pink, white and black dot of his mother becoming smaller by the moment. He lifted his left hand, feeling as though he could catch a cloud in his grasp. Surely this was what birds felt every time they spread their wings…_

"_Expecto Patronum_," Draco said, pointing his outstretched hand at the robed mannequin he had sitting in the middle of the room. With an odd draining sensation, fuzzy white light seeped from his fingers, uniting into a cloud-like mass in front of him. Draco panted, able to hold the brightness in his chest for almost a minute before he dropped his hand, the mist fading away.

He sat down heavily on the marble floor, running a hand through his short hair. _Okay, that memory clearly wasn't strong enough._ He propped an elbow up on his knee, resting his chin in his hand as he tried to think of something else.

_Their backs to the ancient tree trunk, Theo and Draco leaned their shoulders against the other's, their laughter spilling around them as the lights from far-off Hogwarts' windows shone off the frozen lake. "You know, Umbridge is gonna kill us if she finds us out here," Theo pointed out as Draco took another sip of their confiscated bottle of Firewhiskey. Liquid heat pooled in Draco's belly, and he grinned at Theo, ruddy colour from the cold and the alcohol in his cheeks._

_ "Like the old hag cares about anything but Potter's little gang." Theo nodded, Draco's grin contagious. The two boys sighed, giggling drunkenly as their breaths formed small, visible puffs of air in front of them. A single, drifting ice crystal landed on Draco's bent knee. The Slytherin gasped before looking up at the clouds in the night sky._

_ "It's snowing, Theo!" The dark-haired male simply smiled, his eyes never leaving Draco's amazed expression. Theo gently reached out a hand, grasping Draco's chin in his palm before turning his friend to face him._

_ "Yeah, it is," he stated simply before pulling Draco's chin towards his own, pressing his mouth against his friend's in a hot and cold kiss._

_ "…Wow," Draco finally whispered as he pulled back, blinking snowflakes out of his eyelashes._

Draco tried to focus on that tingly feeling, grasping at it desperately as he stood, raising his hand one more time to point at the falsified Dementor. "_Expecto Patronum!_" The cloud seemed a little more substantial this time, hinting at some large shape that just wouldn't completely form. Eventually Draco had to let go, leaning over to catch his breath.

"Good try."

Draco's neck popped as his head shot up to look at Potter, who leaned against the entrance casually. The Gryffindor lifted one side of his mouth in a half-smile before pushing off the wooden archway and nearing the Slytherin.

"My guess is that you just don't have enough endurance with holding onto those emotions for long enough. At this point, you just need practice."

"So I suppose I have no need for your tutelage anymore, then?" Draco said snidely, still a bit breathless. Potter smirked.

"I'm not through until you can fully produce a corporal Patronus, Malfoy. After that, we'll see." Draco didn't like the small part of him that was so pleased that Potter would be forced to see him for a while longer. Potter reached into the pocket of his dark jeans, pulling out a small bar of chocolate. "Not Honeydukes', I'm afraid, but it'll help; a little physiological happiness never hurt, after all."

Draco caught the sweet in his hands, looking at it blankly for a long moment before lifting his head. "Thank you, Potter."

That crooked grin made another appearance. "No problem, Malfoy. Now what are you waiting for? Do the spell again."

Draco smiled.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: If this seems to be going too slow for you, just know that things really pick up in Lesson Five. But I suppose you'll see for yourself. Until March 28****th****, then! :)**


	5. Lesson Five

o

Lesson Five

o

"Shit," Draco cursed as he ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. His room was in tatters. Again.

_Why the fuck is this still happening?_

His toes brushed the dusted remains of his 150-galleon mirror, the softly sharp remnants sparkling in the bright light from the broken windows. The boy took a deep breath, gathering his resolve. "Blissy," he called towards the door-shaped hole in the wall.

"Master Draco is needing Blissy, sir?" The elf asked as she scampered through the rubble. Draco frowned, crossing his pale arms across his even paler bare chest.

"Yes. Please bring me some parchment, a quill, and Hermes. I need to send Mister Potter a correspondence." Blissy nodded fervidly, dashing out of sight. Draco turned towards his windows, warm morning air brushing against the cursed ink of his forearm.

He shivered with disgust.

o

Potter showed up within an hour, looking…relieved. "Malfoy," Potter smiled as he stepped through the entranceway, Draco perched expectantly on the stairs. "Thank God you owled me when you did," he patted Draco's shoulder in an oddly friendly manner before plopping down next to the bewildered boy. "So, you needed me for something?"

Draco stared at him, blinking twice before clearing his throat and standing. "Yes. Potter, come with me." Potter raised a questioning eyebrow, but followed Draco up the grand staircase anyways.

Draco paused momentarily in front of his door – at least there had been enough of that to reassemble – before taking a deep breath and pushing it open. _You know, Potter's the first man besides Theo and Blaise you've ever had in here_, a sly part of his mind whispered as the battlefield that used to be his room loomed into view.

"Woah," Potter whistled as his trainer connected with one of the fallen legs of an armchair. "What happened here?"

Draco internally squirmed. "I told you I had…nightmares," he finally muttered, avoiding Potter's eyes by reconstructing a gutted pillow with his outstretched hand.

"…Well, even I've never had nightmares that decimated a room as thoroughly as this. How did the bed survive, exactly?"

"Well, I sleep on the bed, so I suppose the blast range went around the epicentre," Draco said haltingly, turning his head to look at Potter blankly. _He's not even going to make fun of me?_

Potter nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Well, that makes sense. So, what did you need me for exactly?"

Draco floundered momentarily. "Potter! You're supposed to be instructing me on how to _not_ blow up my house. That's why I've put up with your bloody teaching for the past many, _many_ weeks!"

Potter frowned, looking a little sheepish. "Well, this _was_ supposed to teach you how to channel all that energy, but it also got your emotional side more connected to your magic – so it reacts when you have frightening dreams." Potter paused for a long while. "I guess I should've thought this through a bit more."

"…That should be your catchphrase, Potter."

Potter blinked, then he burst out laughing. "How do you even know what a catchphrase _is_, Malfoy?" He gasped as he sat down on the rumpled bed, still chuckling.

"I read, Potter. Yes, even Muggle literature on occasion. I suggest you try and pick up a book sometime; might help that 'thinking through things' idea of yours." Potter simply grinned at him. Draco huffed in response, crossing his arms sulkily before sitting down next to Potter on his bed. "So, what do I do now?"

"Well, now, we're going to get pissed so we can sit down like real blokes and talk things out."

"Potter, things didn't go so great the last time we got hammered."

Potter snorted in agreement. "Yeah, I guess you're right." The two boys were quiet, a stray breeze ruffling their hair. "Well, how else are we going to talk this out, though? Two normal chaps shouldn't do this sober."

Draco flopped onto his back, pressing his folded hands to his stomach in a sloppy manner that would have horrified his etiquette instructors. Potter watched the sprawled man over his shoulder, an amused glint shining behind those glasses. "Since when were we normal, Potter? I was a Death Eater for a horrifying while, and you were the bloody Saviour of the European Wizarding community. Multiple times, even!" Draco sighed, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. "Maybe I do need a drink."

Potter reached out, swatting Draco playfully on his abdomen, causing Draco to make a noise of surprise. "Don't be so dramatic, Malfoy." Potter puffed out his cheeks before falling onto his back as well, the mattress shaking from the action. Draco could feel the warmth of Potter's bicep pressed against his. "Okay," Potter stared up, determination on his features, "let's do this." Draco tensed.

"So, what do you dream about?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Draco winced at the spidery crack stretching across the painted ceiling. "…Potter, I think you know that that is a rather personal question."

"…Yeah, I do know. But I'm asking anyways; I also think you know that I'm the wizard with the most experience with nightmares." Potter sighed. "It would take a lot to surprise me at this point."

Malfoy snorted, flexing his fingers against the stiff fabric of his dress shirt. "I imagine that's correct… What haven't you fought against? You've dealt with basilisks, Dementors, sphinxes, Umbridge, Death Eaters, and even the Dark Lord himself. No wonder people treat Harry Potter Day as such a big deal; you're a fucking god, aren't you?" The sarcasm was flavoursome on Draco's tongue.

Potter turned his head, scowling lightly. "I'm _not_ a 'god', Malfoy, and I happen to _hate_ 'Harry Potter Day' – it's such a load of shit. But don't think that I'm just going to let you deflect the question: What do you dream about?"

Those green eyes were open, judgement-free. Draco waited as long as he could before muttering, "The war, mostly. The time He was here at the Manor. Pain… Sometimes all of the above."

Potter held his gaze, unblinking. "…And?"

"What the hell do you mean 'and,' Potter?" Draco said sharply, feeling oddly unprotected.

"Are you going to get more specific?" Potter said calmly, slowly.

"No."

"…"

"Fine! Merlin, Potter. There's always…the snake." Draco shivered involuntarily, a cold drip sneaking down his spine at the mere thought of the scaly, infinitely-long body sliding around his feet, those slitted eyes watching, always watching.

"Nagini?"

"Yes, dammit! That damn snake terrified me." Draco stared, haunted, into Potter's eyes. "He once made all of us second-generation ones attend a special dinner just with Him – He Summoned one of the lower level Death Eaters, one who'd displeased Him somehow, and fed him to the snake. Stunned, but alive." Draco's voice was hoarse. "She started at the feet, leaving the man's eyes staring at the five of us while he was slowly killed. Merlin, the way his eyes _pleaded_ with us, to do _anything_. But we all just sat there, so fucking horrified."

Draco took a deep breath, flinching slightly when Potter gently pressed his arm more firmly against Draco's for support. "And then, with that damn snake sitting in the corner with its extended belly, He simply called for dinner and had us eat with Him, right there at that table… That table is still sitting down there, taunting me, Potter…This whole house is laughing at me, permeated with all of my memories." Draco shuddered again, clutching his shirtfront tightly with white knuckles.

Birds chirped somewhere far off outside, their song clearly distinct through the lasting holes in the windows; it seemed ridiculous that the world was still turning far away, so many on the globe not even knowing who Lord Voldemort had been.

"…I dream about being too late."

Draco looked at Potter when the other wizard finally made a noise. "'Too late'? What do you mean?" The question was almost inaudible, the feeling in the air too fragile for normal volume.

"I dream that I'd been too late to save the few that I did, that I never even had a chance." Potter grimaced at the windows, Draco now staring at the back of his messy hair. "That I finally show up at Hogwarts and it's all…over. Finished without me, and their bodies just stare at me, blank but accusatory."

"But you weren't too late, Potter," Draco finally whispered into the pleasantly, mockingly warm summer air. Potter finally turned back around to stare at him, his eyes oddly glazed.

"Since when does what really happened impact our dreams? My mind can only seem to dwell on what could have happened." Draco nodded, only just comprehending Potter's problem.

The two shared that look of mutual understanding for a long, undeterminably long, moment. And then Potter sat up.

"Jesus, I need a scotch," he mumbled as he ran a hand down his weary, young face. Draco watched his back, the wrinkles on Potter's t-shirt containing the secrets of the universe. But then he sat up as well, squeezing his clasped hands in-between his two knees.

"I suppose I can oblige you there, Potter." Draco smiled weakly, still feeling raw. Potter met his eyes, those green windows just as unguarded. "Consider it payment for spending some of your leisure time with me." And then those green windows were abruptly closed again.

"…Payment, right." Potter suddenly stood, checking his watch. "I actually need to get going. I'll still see you on Wednesday, Malfoy."

Potter shut the bedroom door behind him, leaving Draco sitting on his bed, confusion and sunlight bathing his face.

ooOoo

"Everything is _fine_, Mother," Draco repeated, exasperated at the icily worried face framed in the fireplace.

"Darling, you have told me that three times now, yet I do believe you are not being completely honest with me." Draco wilfully stopped himself from rolling his eyes at his mother's passive-aggressive way of arguing.

"I do not know what else you want me to say, Mother. The Manor is intact and safe; I've been maintaining healthy contact with the outside world through Theo, Blaise, and Pansy; and my lessons with Potter are becoming less and less necessary." Draco raised his eyebrows in a bratty manner.

Narcissa pursed her lips disapprovingly. "…Very well. If you do not want to elaborate, I cannot force you; I just wish you felt more comfortable talking with me, my little Dragon." Draco felt her intended stab of guilt. The air was quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire outlining Narcissa's aging face.

The witch sighed. "Then I suppose this is goodbye, Draco. I won't be home for a few more weeks, so make sure you eat properly and begin reviewing for your return to Hogwarts. The Greengrass's girls have been studying for months, apparently, so that they don't fall behind in their classes."

Draco's throat felt tight, unwilling to relay the news to his mother that he alone had never received an invitation back. So he schooled his features into earnest calm and nodded tightly. "Your father sends his love, and I expect more letters!" Narcissa called before her visage was gone.

Draco knelt on the smooth wooden floor of the kitchen, staring at the ashes in the grate as though they could save him from his reality.

ooOoo

Draco gasped for breath, leaning his weight onto his knees, stray hairs sticking to his damp forehead. "Fuck, I can't anymore, Potter," he breathed, a sinking feeling in his gut.

Potter frowned from his seat on one of the windowsills. "You can do this, Malfoy. It shouldn't be draining you this much," he noted with a small amount of concern in his tone.

Draco smirked wryly, lifting his head to share with Potter. "I guess I'm just too unaccustomed to happiness for this spell to work." Instead of smiling at his joke, Potter's frown deepened, a look that horribly resembled pity flashing in his eyes. Resentment, Draco's old friend, sparked in the pit of his stomach. _How dare Potter have the audacity pity me_, he snarled to himself.

Collecting himself in a way he hadn't had to in the past few weeks, Draco stood, slowing his breath and his heart-rate. "So, Potter, what do you suggest? You are supposed to be the expert here, after all."

Potter didn't say anything, his stare full of thought. "Maybe we should –"

"Potter, just admit it: we've been trying this for three weeks now – I can't do it." The words were bitter on Draco's tongue, the taste of truth rather unpleasant. Potter stood from his seat.

"You _can_, Malfoy. Come here." The man gestured for Draco to approach him. The blonde tensed when Potter turned him so that he was facing the windows viewing the garden – the first sprigs and buds of rebirth were beginning to peak into the midsummer air.

Draco jumped when Potter grasped his right hip, the other weathered, calloused hand clasping Draco's left wrist and lifting it up. "Potter! What are you–?"

"Just listen to me, alright," Potter said softly into his ear, ruffling the short, soft strands of hair on the side of Draco's face. "You have to _believe_ that you can do this in order to be able to. Believe in yourself, Draco. And don't just think that I'm spewing a bunch of stupid Gryffindor shit – it's true. So be the self-confident bastard I know you can be, and have a little faith in your ability." Draco refused to blush at Potter's benign tone.

"…Come on, Draco. You know the spell…"

Warmth seemed to flow from Potter's grip on his wrist and his hip into his chest - Draco allowed it to fill him up, Potter's smell of wood, lemons, and bread blanketing his senses. "_Expecto Patronum_," he whispered finally, barely breathing the words.

Electricity streamed through Draco's veins, sparks shooting up his spine. Silver light burst from his fingertips, coalescing into a simultaneously shining but dark beast, gleaming eyes staring at Draco with intelligence before the large feline opened its mouth in a silent roar. "I did it," Draco stated with disbelief as the panther circled the two men, radiating the warmth and security Draco was always secretly craving.

"I did it!" Draco repeated, his chest feeling lighter than it had in years, real flickers of joy filling him up. "Potter, I _did_ it!" Draco turned his head, tilting back to look into Potter's incandescent green eyes, seeing amusement and some of his own happiness reflected therein. Draco's heart unexpectedly began beating faster, his body suddenly hyperaware of Potter's arms around him. The two men gazed at each other, their faces outlined by the silvery mist of the circling panther, the air suddenly stifling with invisible, electric tension.

But then the moment broke. "Yeah, you did it, Malfoy," Harry murmured with a soft smile, tightening his grip slightly on Draco's wrist and waist before letting go and taking a short step back. "I knew you could."

The panther blinked at the two hopeless souls for one more moment before fading away into nothingness. Draco's smile dropped off his face, his body abruptly feeling cold.

Potter glanced at that cracked watch he always wore, his mouth tightening slightly. "Well, I need to be going. See you."

Draco didn't stop the dark-haired man as he walked out of that giant doorway…but he couldn't help thinking how nice that 'Draco' had sounded on Potter's tongue as he gently wrapped his fingers around his still-warm wrist.

ooOoo

Draco awoke the next morning to the fireplace in his bedroom screaming at him. Well, not the fireplace itself, but the face framed by it. "DRACO ABRAXUS MALFOY. GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE AND LET ME THROUGH THIS MOMENT." The young man groaned, rubbing a hand across his eyes before stumbling to the grate, saying the password to let the irate Pansy Parkinson into his once-peaceful haven.

"_What the fuck is this?_" The brunette yelped sharply as she thrust a paper in Draco's face.

"And good morning to you too, Pansy," Draco deadpanned as he grabbed the _Prophet_ out of her hands. His thin lips parted in shock as the headline shouted at him: CHOSEN COUPLE BREAKS OFF ENGAGEMENT, POTTER SPOTTED VISITING MALFOY MANOR WEEKLY.

"- the fuck?" Draco breathed as he watched the blurry, grainy snapshot of Potter passing through the Manor gates, juxtaposed to a photograph of an extremely annoyed-looking Potter and the Weaselette.

"Exactly! Now put on some fucking clothes and explain to me how, according to this, Potter is breaking up with that ginger whore for _you_." It took a moment for Pansy's words to reach Draco through the tunnel-vision he was experiencing, but he eventually did shrug on the first shirt-like item he pulled out from his closet (one of his many black jumpers) over his pale chest, then sat heavily on his bed, Pansy perching herself daintily next to him, all the while judging the unkempt state of Draco's bed-head and his worn, 'S'-patterned pyjama bottoms.

Draco kept re-reading the headline, his knuckles white with strain. "They were _engaged_? Does she even have the Trace off of her yet?" Pansy just stared at him, not understanding the deep, panging hollowness that was settling in Draco's stomach.

"You're focusing on _that_ detail? Draco, when was the last time you read the _Prophet_? Or left this house, for that matter?" Pansy's voice was a strange mixture of concern and suspicion that grated against Draco's ears. "'The Chosen Couple' is all anyone talks about. You'd think they were royalty or something." Pansy pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, using her wand to light it before daintily taking a drag. Draco normally would've reacted with disgust at her habit, but was still to numb to move. "I think everyone uses – well, _used_ now, I suppose – their young love as a symbol for the hope in the future of society or something. It's sad, really. Merlin knows how their first child would have been celebrated. There'd probably be another Potter day named after it…Draco?"

"…"

Something struck Pansy, and she almost dropped her stick of smoke-able cancer onto the bedspread. She Vanished it instead, grabbing Draco's shoulder with a strength that surprised most of its recipients. "Wait; don't tell me that it's _true_?" Pansy eyes glazed for a second as Draco refused to look at her, still watching the mini-Potter in the photograph glare at him as Weasley hung off his arm, sneering at him. "You – and – Merlin's bollocks, _Draco!_"

The numbness was starting to recede as all too familiar cold and stiffness reacquainted itself with Draco's muscles and psyche. "Don't be ridiculous, Pansy. Of course Potter and I aren't – weren't fucking. Like Scarhead is anything less than a straight arrow – in all meanings of the phrase." Draco stood, his back to Pansy as he walked into his closet, changing into a more formal, Malfoy-esque outfit. It felt like putting on a second skin, and Draco was grateful for the shielding.

"Well, you can't deny that Potter's been visiting here, can you?" Draco winced slightly as he stared at himself in the mirror in his closet, spelling away the dark, bruised-coloured smudges under his eyes. "…I'm going to take your lack of a response as the conformation it is and sit here until you enlighten me as to why the most famous wizard in Europe has been visiting you every Wednesday this summer."

But before Draco had to return to his bedroom and face his best friend, a second voice entered the room. "There is being many letters here for Master Draco. Shall Blissy be bringing them here?"

Draco walked back into his bedroom, opening his mouth to agree before the strangest memory popped into his head: Granger had been the subject of all of those cursed letters back in fourth year because the world had thought she'd broken Potter's heart or something ridiculous like that. Draco didn't even want to know the amount of hate that was now focused on him for apparently turning the Boy-Who-Conquered-Death into a faggot. "Please destroy all of them at once, Blissy, unless they come from my mother, Blaise, or Theo…Or Potter." Pansy raised an accusing eyebrow at him while the house-elf bowed and scurried off.

"…Why wasn't your dad on that list?" It wasn't the question Draco had been expecting, and it hurt in an unexpected way.

"His letter would probably be the most dangerous of them all."

o

Pansy stayed all day, a not-so-silent pillar of strength that Draco hadn't even know he'd need as dozens of Howlers still managed to get through Blissy's and the house's defences. The insults and accusations, not to mention the threats, were unsurprising and actually caused Pansy to laugh a couple of times at their inanity. "Obviously none of these people were Slytherins or they would've learned how to properly get under someone's skin." But even as she giggled, she leaned over and rested her head on Draco's shoulder, subtly giving him the tiny bit of physical comfort he desperately required.

Because even if he was a cold-hearted bastard who knew that he was above all of these plebeians who were writing these pathetic excuses of complaints, each hateful name or label expanded that well-hidden crack buried deep, deep in his chest just an undetectable bit more.

And as the sky darkened and the stream of mail slowed slightly as people began to rest their hateful minds for the night, there was still no word from Potter.

ooOoo

The note appeared on the pillow next to Draco's head on the morning of the Wednesday following the Reveal, as Pansy called it.

_I will be returning from France tomorrow. We will discuss your next actions following the article then. Your father sends his love._

_ ~ N. Malfoy_

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. He seriously doubted that last sentence, but ignored the whisperings of emotions that lingered on the edges of his mind at what exactly his father thought of him now. That was hardly the most pending of his worries at the moment.

Draco cast a wandless _tempus_, collapsing back against his cluster of pillows when he saw that it was already an hour after noon. He felt guilty for practically sleeping the day away, but what else was he to do these days, anyways? _When _was_ the last time I left the Manor?_ Draco stewed on that for a while, embarrassment welling up the longer and longer he realized it'd been. _Months, then. This probably isn't healthy._

And it's not like he could leave now. If he had been worried about the torment he would've received a month or two ago, he didn't even want to think about how it would be now. Draco groaned, rolling over on his stomach and wishing he could just smother himself on his imported sheets and be done with it all.

But, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending), that Malfoy streak of doing anything to scrape by and pass on the bloodline just a little longer wouldn't allow Draco to just die like that, so the blonde rolled out of bed and began the lengthy task of preparing the Manor for his mother's return.

A strange, lead-heavy sensation began to smother Draco's chest as the grandfather clock in his father's study began to tick closer and closer to three o'clock.

_He's not coming. You know he's not._

_ But…he might? This slander involves him too, after all, so why wouldn't he come, if only to discuss what we should do next?_

_ Like he cares about your end of the problem. He's repaid the life debt, you imbecile. You think he's going to even bother with you now that you've caused him all this trouble? He can't even _stand_ you._

_ But what about the other day? I mean, he must've felt it too…_

_ 'Felt' what? He's been fucking the Weaselette for years now – fuck, they were _engaged_ even. Don't you think you would've heard if the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice was a queer too?_

_ …Maybe he's bi._

_ We both know that if you're using that argument then you know you're only thinking wishfully. Grow a pair and face the facts: you have a fucking crush on Harry bloody Potter and now it's been confirmed that nothing will ever happen between the two of you. That's it._

Draco sat in the ballroom anyway, his fingers picking at the expensive fabric of the windowsill's cushion. He knew that Potter wasn't going to show up, but his feet had brought him here without his consent.

His heart paused for a breath as the chimes from the multiple clocks in the house resounded: _clang, clang, clang_. Silence pounded at Draco's temples.

And then it was done. "That's it, then."

Draco gracefully walked to gilded doors of the ballroom, turned around, raised his two hands in front of him and blew out the expansive glass windows on the opposing wall, crystal shattering and raining down in a shimmering storm, creating a crescendo of beautiful, horrible destruction.

Draco softly shut the doors behind him.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Well, I'll see y'all in two weeks, then!**

**P.S. I'm going to London for Spring Break next Thursday and I'll be visiting the castle where they shot HP and all sorts of cool shit – LET ME BASK IN YOUR JEALOUSY.**

**P.P.S. Have I ever put a disclaimer on this? I can't remember – well, there is an implicit understanding that I happen to not be J.K.R, so I'm just borrowing **_**her**_** dollies for a bit.**


	6. Lesson Six

o

Lesson Six

o

It was raining again.

"Draco." The knock sounded softly against the door again. "We need to talk about this, Darling." But Narcissa's son didn't respond, his eyes firmly fixed on everywhere but the copy of the _Prophet_ lying on his bed: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH GINERVA WEASLEY – 'I ALWAYS FELT THAT HARRY WAS HIDING SOMETHING'.

The air was still for a moment before Draco lifted his hand, Vanishing the newspaper and opening the door to his bedroom in one fluid motion. "Talk about what, Mother?" Draco feigned his ignorance, hoping that maybe if he pretended hard enough, the matters involving Potter would simply fade from his mind completely.

Narcissa stepped softly into the bedroom, folding her arms elegantly across the front of her white blouse, one of her 'working outfits'. "I believe you are fully aware of what I am referring to, Draco."

Draco didn't respond, turning his head to watch long strands of droplets slither down his window. "…Draco, you need to tell me what really transpired between you and Potter so that I can alert the right people and get this all sorted out."

"I seriously doubt that there is a way to 'get this all sorted out', Mother. People love this sort of scandal, even, maybe even especially, when it's not true," Draco noted without looking away from the rain.

"So it is not true?"

Draco finally turned to face her, a self-loathing sneer on his mouth. "Of course it is a lie, Mother! Even if Potter was a homosexual, which he isn't, do you really think he would have started shagging _me_ of all people?" Narcissa merely raised a carefully-manicured eyebrow in response.

Draco turned a soft shade of pink, realising he was discussing having sex with Potter with his mother. "None of it's true. We weren't even friends," Draco finally muttered before focussing on the dark weather once again.

Narcissa nodded once, unseen by her son, and slipped out of the door.

o

"-ILTHY FAGGOT! HOW DARE YOU SOIL THE HOPE OF THIS NATION WITH YOUR DISGUSTING, IMMORAL WAYS! YOU SHOULD BE BU-"

"Do they ever stop?" Theo asked loudly, his hands over his ears as Blissy carried the Howler to the flickering flames in the kitchen. Draco shook his head, circling the rim of his mug with his finger. Theo frowned worriedly, lowering his hands as the screaming was cut off by the hissing of paper frying.

"You should just hear the ones from the bitchy, Hogwarts-age girls," Draco muttered, a wry smile on his lips as he shuddered jokingly. Theo didn't laugh.

"Can't you do something about them?"

"Like what?"

Unsurprisingly to Draco, who'd thought of all the options, Theo was silent for a long time. "Well, why don't you come forward with the truth? I mean, you didn't actually –" Theo trailed off questioningly, his cheeks tinged with the lightest bit of heat.

Draco took a sip of his cold tea. "No, Theo, I didn't fuck Potter. Nor did he fuck me. He was merely repaying a debt he owed my family, nothing more."

"…But you fancied him."

Draco whipped his head upwards, mouth agape in surprise. Theo's face was blank except for a mild smile. The ex-boyfriends shared a long gaze, until Draco finally looked down with enough guilt in his eyes to confirm Theo's suspicions.

Draco's head dropped onto his folded arms heavily. "Merlin, I'm pathetic," his melancholy, muffled voice said. "I'm no better than snivelling, first-year Hufflepuffs."

Theo snickered. "You're not _that_ pitiful."

Draco grunted in disagreement, his mind wandering to the time when he'd been in this kitchen with Potter himself, calling for a cease-fire. Those weeks past felt more like years ago. Draco peeked his eyes over his forearms when Theo plopped down on the stool across from him.

"So…What are you going to do now?"

"I actually don't know," Draco admitted cripplingly. "A couple reporters sent me requests for interviews, but I haven't responded… I don't think Potter would want me to do anything."

Theo's eyebrows rose in surprised indignation. "Why the hell do you care what Potter thinks? Has he specifically told you something since this whole mess started?"

"Well, no, but–"

"Draco, I hate to say this, but if Potter hasn't said anything to you since then, he's probably purposely ignoring you, hoping that you'll just take all the blame yourself."

Draco sat up completely, a sharp spark of anger stabbing his gut. "Potter isn't like that, Nott! He wouldn't - he's probably just…"

"'Just' what, Draco?" Theo continued pointedly. Draco didn't have a response. Theo sighed, not meaning to play the devil's advocate. "Draco," Theo said softly, reaching over to pat his friend's face lightly, "don't romanticize Potter like every other person on the planet: he's another jackass bloke who wants to avoid the consequences of his actions."

"I know that, Theo! I wasn't exactly the head of the Harry Potter Fan Club at the start of this whole mess!"

Theo just raised an eyebrow in disagreement. "You sure talked about him a lot."

"I will kill you."

Theo laughed, stealing the biscuit off Draco's saucer. "Lookin' forward to it, babe," he said in his worst American accent, grinning madly.

Draco hit him with a wandless Stinging Hex in retaliation. He sniggered, his muscles strangely unaccustomed to the movement, when Theo looked around, startled and unknowing of where the pain had come from. "…So I guess I should owl Skeeter back?"

Theo shrugged. "I'm just saying that you need to take matters into your own hands. If you think going to Skeeter is the right thing to do, do it."

Draco stuck out his tongue petulantly. "Merlin, listen to us. 'The right thing' – we sound like bloody Gryffindor saps."

"Well, they do say people in love begin to resemble one another."

Draco pushed Theo off his stool.

ooOoo

"Why am I telling everything to _this_ newspaper?" Draco asked quietly as he, Pansy, and Blaise sat in the lobby of a small office building. The secretary ignored them from his authoritative perch behind the desk, his non-descript features focused intently on his computer, a contraption Draco had never seen this closely before.

Pansy readjusted her flirtatiously short skirt. "It's _The Snake Whisperer_, Draco," she stated as though he would know what that meant. She rolled her eyes at his lack of response. "Merlin, you really do live under a rock, don't you?" Draco didn't respond, too consumed by the tension he was feeling every time a new person walked through the building's front doors, as though every one of them could've been the sender of one of those Howlers.

"It's only _the_ newspaper for post-Hogwarts Slytherins, Draco. And for other intelligent power-seekers, I suppose," Pansy added as an afterthought. "And, of course, you're famous amongst these networks, so clearing this up with your fans would be a nice place to start before you move on to the bigger world."

"My _fans_?" Draco croaked, causing the harried secretary to glare at them over his computer's screen. Pansy smirked at Draco before winking at the secretary, who blushed.

Blaise rolled his eyes at his hopeless friends. "Yes, Draco, your fans. Just imagine the buzz this sort of scandal has caused amongst the _SW_'s readers: the leader of the world they hate hooking up with one of the child-stars of the Slytherin world."

"We were not!" Draco hissed for the umpteenth time.

Blaise sniggered. "Save it for the interview, Dray-Dray."

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate, but the man at the desk said that a Miss Talkalot was now ready to see them. The group of once-Slytherins stood, following a pointed finger down a blank hallway, where a lone, brass-embossed door watched them from the end. The plaque on the door read: Lucinda M. Talkalot, Editor.

Pansy knocked twice, in quick succession. "Come in," an even voice called at them. She opened the door to the office, Draco and Blaise following. Sunlight streamed from tall, linear windows on the wall opposite the door, a handsome, modern desk placed in front. A dark-skinned, tall woman smiled at them from behind the desk, her short hair cropped attractively, her surprisingly green eyes watching them, calculating. Miss Talkalot extended a hand, gesturing to the three empty armchairs.

Draco sat in the one to the far left, sitting straight-backed and alert in the way that his life-long propriety lessons had instructed. Talkalot turned her electric eyes to him, her smile turning wolfish. "Well, good afternoon, Mister Malfoy, Mister Zabini, and Miss Parkinson. I never expected to have such famous Slytherin alumni sitting in my humble office. It is quite a pleasure," she drawled, her eyes never leaving their unnerving fixation on Draco.

"No, it's our pleasure, Miss Talkalot. Blaise and I have been reading your newspaper for years."

"Oh, how wonderful; and, please, call me Lucinda." It suddenly struck Draco why the name sounded so familiar – Lucinda Talkalot had been the Slytherin Quidditch captain back in 1976, her name adorning the plaque inside the Slytherin common room. Draco looked at the young woman in a new light, the editor seeming more familiar now that he'd made a connection with his past.

"So, Mister Malfoy," Lucinda said as she continued her physical evaluation of him, "I understand that you would like to do an interview regarding the accusations from _The Prophet_ with respect to your romantic relationship with Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Draco stated calmly, slipping into the cold-hearted, sharp-tongued character he'd known since he was a child. "The libel and slander must be stopped, as I do not appreciate the debilitating effects they are having on my personal life."

Lucinda nodded, pulling her wand from her pocket. She tapped it twice on the microphone-looking device on her sleek desk. "Yes, have Peterson come to my office," she ordered it clearly before stowing her wand back in the pocket of her elegant robes. A moment later, a petite Asian witch strolled into the room, a scroll and a quill clutched in her grasp. "Peterson will be recording your responses, Mister Malfoy, if that is acceptable." Draco nodded in compliance.

"Very well. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

o

Draco watched his mother's reaction carefully, noting the subtle twitch of an eyebrow or the slightest movement of the corners of her mouth. He nonchalantly sipped at his tea, heart thumping quickly in his chest.

Narcissa, expression unreadable, lifted her eyes from the inky text, turning her icily-blue gaze to her son. "I do wish you had consulted me before doing this, Draco," she finally said. Draco's mouth twitched into a frown.

"Well, I figured it was my concern, Mother, so I dealt with it myself."

Narcissa sighed quietly, folding her hands atop the newspaper on the lap of her dress. "You should not feel so alone in your troubles, Darling. I'm your mother: I am here to support you through all of your woes." She reached across the small, iron table, resting her delicate, aging hand on the back of her son's.

Draco smiled slightly. "I know, Mother. But I'm not a child anymore – I have to do some things independently."

Narcissa smiled sadly, squeezing Draco's hand before pulling away. "I suppose so, my little Dragon." She looked at the copy of _The Snake Whisperer_, watching the regal picture of Draco stare back at her. "I am surprised with how thorough you were with the retelling of events; I thought you had wished to keep your nightmares a private manner?"

Draco turned his head, watching an iridescent butterfly flicker across the windows of the parlour, the faint echoes of Blissy destroying another Howler resounding far off in the Manor. "A little bit of my pride was worth getting this entire mess out into the air. Now it's merely a matter of having the conveniently-missing Potter verify my account."

"Yes, where is Potter, Draco? I was sure I would have seen some sort of statement from him by now."

Draco finally turned back to her, an oddly painful-looking smile on his face. "Potter seems to have disappeared and left me with the mess to clean up. How very Slytherin of him."

The two Malfoy's were quiet for a long moment. "…Quite so."

ooOoo

Theo whistled cheerfully, oblivious to the stares that followed him and Draco down the street. "Theodore! Let go of my hand!" Draco hissed, blushing furiously as Theo ignored him, pulling the other Slytherin along after him.

"Nope," the dark-haired man sang cheerfully, continuing his long stride. "You'll escape otherwise." _Well, that's true_, Draco had to admit.

"Well, than will you at least tell me where the bloody fuck you are taking me?"

"Sure," Theo agreed, to Draco's surprise. "We're going to lunch."

"…Why do I need to be kidnapped if we are just going to lunch?"

"Because we are going to the Leaky Cauldron for a bite." Draco's face lost the slight spattering of colour it had.

"_The Leaky Cauldron?_" Draco's voice cracked embarrassingly. "Why are we going there?" He asked vehemently, attempting to free his hand more vigorously.

Theo gripped Draco's wrist more tightly, rounding a corner and causing more stares from the adjacent Muggles. "You are suffering from PTSD, Draco."

"What?"

"It's a Muggle disease. It stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You're still haunted by your memories of the war, and it's been ruining your life."

"Wha-!"

"Don't try and deny it, Draco," Theo ordered, his voice surprisingly serious. "After all, you can't even be around anyone who isn't a friend from before the war, you've been suffering horrible nightmares for months now – I do wish I'd found that out from you and not _The_ _Snake Whisperer_, by the way – and you haven't left that hellhole of a Manor for way too long. You need to conquer your fear of wizard-kind."

"I am not afraid of wizards, Nott! Now let me the fuck go, or I'll–"

"You'll what, Draco? You're hardly going to cause a scene here, in the middle of a Muggle street." Draco frowned, frantically trying to think of a plan as the two rounded the corner to the too-familiar boulevard where the Leaky Cauldron sat.

"I'm serious, Theo!" Draco's voice was shrill but quiet as Theo pushed open the door, his other hand still firmly constricting Draco's wrist.

Draco sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding erratically as the two ex-Death Eaters neared the bar, only one of the pub's three inhabitants watching closely as the opened entranceway flooded sunlight into the room.

Hermione Granger sipped her glass of water, expression unreadable from the shadows of the corner as she watched her two ex-classmates awkwardly take a seat at a far-off table. She regarded Draco as he turned to Nott, the pale boy whispering something furiously as Tom neared the customers, a scowl on his haggard features.

Hermione's mouth turned into a frown as Tom muttered something crossly at Draco and Nott before gesturing at the entrance to the pub. Nott's face turned stony as he rose to his feet, his hand on Draco's shoulder as the two began making their way to the door. Hermione caught a glimpse of Draco's resigned expression, as though his fears had been proven correct.

She dropped a few Knuts on the table-top, briskly following the two Slytherins out the door. "Draco, Nott, hold on a moment!" The two men were a few meters down the sidewalk, and stopped immediately. Nott's expression was curious and surprised as he turned to face Hermione Granger, whereas Draco's face was an odd mix of quickly-masked shame and anxiety.

"Granger," Nott blinked at her. "Can we help you with something?"

"Well, I couldn't help noticing how rudely you were just treated in there, and I was wondering if I could invite you two to lunch in a more hospitable establishment?"

Nott and Draco shared a glance, some wordless conversation passing between them.

"Sure, Granger. That sounds lovely."

o

"So," Granger began as she sat down her glass. "I'm sure you are wondering why I wanted to have lunch with you."

"…I assume it has something to do with the rumours about me and Potter?" Draco asked icily, his shields firmly intact.

Granger shrugged. "I suppose that's a part of it. But I think that your interview in _The Snake Whisperer_ is really beginning to quell people's idiotic panic," she said matter-of-factly before daintily taking a bite of her sandwich.

"_You_ read that article?" Theo asked for Draco, who was simply staring in surprise.

Granger smiled in a way that Draco could only describe as a smirk. "Of course. Who do think passed it on to the _Prophet_ this morning?"

Draco choked on air. "_The Prophet?_ Everyone in all of Wizarding Britain is going to read it, then!"

Granger blinked. "Well, yes. Isn't that what you wanted? Now people will know that you didn't seduce Harry or some rubbish." Draco paused, sharing a glance with a bemused Theo.

"Yes, I suppose that is what I wanted," Draco haltingly admitted as he swirled his tepid soup with his spoon. _Of course, what you _really_ wanted was for Potter to contact you_, that traitorous part of himself whispered. He ignored it.

"So, where has Potter been during this mess? He hasn't exactly been forthcoming with help," Theo asked squarely, watching Granger closely. The Muggleborn sighed quietly, folding her hands atop the table.

"That's actually what I was going to ask you about," she said to Draco. "Harry's been missing for a week now, and I was wondering if you had heard anything. But, by your reactions, I'd say you didn't even know that he was gone."

Muggle laughter and the clicking of silverware filled the air around the trio.

"Only a week?" Theo eventually repeated after silence had reigned for too long. "Didn't this all start about a fortnight ago?"

Granger nodded, looking serious. "Yes. After Harry broke it off with Ginny–"

"_He_ left _her_?"

Granger raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I gather you didn't actually read any of the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ articles." Draco shook his head minutely.

"Yes, well, he did. After that, he and Ron got into a huge row." Granger pushed a strand of her frizzy hair behind her ear, looking contrite. "Ron and I might love Harry and want to support him no matter what, but Ron was really shocked by everything that was happening. They said some things, and Harry left.

"I met with him a few days after that, to tell him that we all still care for him, but that the article and his cutting ties with Ginny were going to cause some pain between him and the rest of the Weasley's for a while." Granger looked down at her glass. "He seemed resigned, but told me not to worry, that 'everything would turn out alright.'" Those brown eyes looked up again. "And then he was gone."

Theo and Draco stewed on this news for a long moment, Draco watching the passer-by that strolled past the window they were seated next to. Any one of them might be Potter - that damn Potter who was making everything so fucking difficult.

"So, what do we do?" Draco finally asked, his eyes still fixed on the real world outside.

"Um, I had hoped you might know something, but considering you don't, I figured it's time we alerted the Aurors."

"What?" Theo exclaimed. "You're barmy! You can't let the Ministry know that their favourite pet is missing; if you thought the public was incensed by the whole Drarry fiasco –"

"The _what_ fiasco?" Draco asked cuttingly, snapping his neck around to gape at Theo, who blatantly ignored him.

"– then you can't even imagine how people will react when they learn that Potter is simply gone."

"…I suppose you're right," Granger conceded. "But then how do we find Harry?"

"Granger, what makes you think that you _could_ find Potter? I seriously doubt one of the most powerful wizards of our age could be found by anyone if he didn't want to be." Theo took a bite of his salad, oddly serene.

Granger suddenly seemed weary, her eyes looking aged far beyond her eighteen years. "You're right. I just hope he comes back soon," she muttered before taking up Draco's gaze out the window.

_I think we all agree there_, Draco thought to himself.

He watched as the dark clouds looming over London began to cry, a field of black umbrellas blooming on the street outside the restaurant.

_Fuck, Potter, where are you?_

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: I'm back from London! :D The studios were amazing, and the parts of the castles they used were awe-inspiring too. *sigh* I love England. And Drarry – it was so much fun to pass by buildings and imagine Draco and Harry living all domestically and fluffily behind those windows. 3**

**/nonsense**

**See you in two weeks!**


	7. Lesson Seven

o

Lesson Seven

o

Draco bit at the inside of his bottom lip as he watched Hermes soar away, the bird's intimidating body silhouetted against the cloudless sky. He nervously tapped his bare feet on the wooden floor, already beginning to have doubts about his decision.

_Well, it's no use worrying about it now_, his mind berated him firmly. He nodded to himself, turning back to the newly-reconstructed desk, where multiple scrapped drafts of the letter lay scattered. Small spurts of sentences caught his attention.

_Dear Headmistress McGonagall… Concerning the matter of… Request further explanation… A meeting between us… Highest regards, Draco Malfoy. _

He picked up the sheets of parchment, forcibly crushing them in his grasp before Vanishing them wandlessly. Hopefully McGonagall would at least have the courtesy to meet with him, if only to explain why she wasn't allowing him alone to return to Hogwarts.

"I need a shot of Firewhiskey," Draco proclaimed to the dust mites, not caring that it was barely ten in the morning. His hand was on the doorknob of the entrance to his father's study when the door began to push itself open. Startled, Draco took a step back.

"Mother? I thought you were in France for the weekend," Draco blinked in surprise at the grim-looking woman.

"Yes, Darling, I was. However, something has come up."

"What do you –?" But then Draco stopped, the air dissipating from his lungs as he spotted the figure looming in the hallway.

"Good afternoon, Draco."

"F-Father."

o

Blissy's hands shook terribly as she lowered the tray onto the table, fear and awe shining in her eyes as she gazed upon Lucius, the master who had been gone so long. "Thank you, Blissy. That'll be all," Draco whispered quietly. The elf bowed before scuttling away.

The tension was palpable between the three Malfoy's, Draco and Narcissa strategically placed on one couch whereas Lucius sat opposite in one of the many high-backed chairs in the parlour. Draco kept his eyes fixed firmly on his clasped hands, his knuckles white from strain.

"Shall I pour you some tea, Lucius?" Narcissa asked calmly. From the successive clinking and splashing, Draco assumed his father had nodded in agreement.

"And you, Darling?" Draco shook his head.

"Draco, are you purposefully behaving like a coward? Make eye contact when someone asks you a question," Lucius ordered frostily. Draco winced before steeling his features and straightening his long body.

"Of course, Father. How dare _I_ have the audacity to, as you say, 'behave like a coward.'" Lucius scowled, the harsh lines around his mouth and eyes becoming more pronounced.

"I do not appreciate whatever your tone is insinuating, Draco. Cowardice is not a trait that runs in this family."

Draco smiled meanly. "Right, because becoming a Death Eater and then running off to France before you could face the consequences were acts of _bravery_."

"Draco," Narcissa warned quietly, resting her pale hand on his knee.

Lucius's eyes were smouldering with poorly-concealed rage, but his tone was pure ice. "I do not think that you have the right to judge me, you sodomite." Draco flinched back as though he'd been physically struck. The words were harsh, but the pain that was spearing his chest was more from the disgust and utter loathing that radiated from his father.

"Is there some reason you're here, besides to insult me?" Draco finally asked, his heart still thumping painfully as he tried to keep his features expressionless.

"Yes. I'm here with an ultimatum." Draco looked up, wary.

Lucius sneered as he began his explanation. "As much as it pains me to say it, your…sickness is not unknown to pureblood society, or to our family. However, it is always dealt with quickly and quietly, and because of this whole debacle with Potter," Lucius spat the name, "your mother and I can no longer tolerate your behaviour to go untreated."

Draco anxiously cast a glance at his mother, who was resiliently avoiding her son's gaze, subtle guilt adorning her tired features. "But, Father, none of those rumours were true," Draco noted hastily.

Lucius scowled. "That does not matter now, Draco. Especially considering you are…what you are. The Greengrass's youngest, Astoria, also happens to be a…"

"Homosexual?" Draco finished for him, a terrible sense of foreboding filling his lungs.

"Yes. I have discussed our families' issues with Queenie and Apollo Greengrass and we have decided on a course of action." Lucius paused, only causing the sense of apprehension to build in Draco's abdomen.

"If you do not marry Astoria and produce an heir, you will be disowned from this family."

Dull ringing filled Draco's ears.

"Wh- Father, that's ridiculous! You cannot ask this of me," Draco pleaded with Lucius, whose gaze was harder than stone.

"Of course I can. If you do not fix this mess you have created, Draco, our family will forever be seen as a joke in society: a shameful, disgusting joke." Lucius casually reached down and picked up his cup, nonchalantly taking a long drink as Draco struggled desperately for some sort of stability in his mind.

"Mother-?" Draco turned his fraught gaze to Narcissa, who looked incredibly pained.

"I'm sorry, Darling. If you'll only marry the Greengrass girl…"

Draco closed his eyes, praying to anything that would listen that this was a nightmare, a horribly realistic nightmare.

But when he opened his eyes, he was still sitting in the parlour under the sorrowful gaze of his mother and the hateful gaze of the father he'd once admired and who he had thought had loved him unconditionally.

"…We can give you some time to think about it, Draco," Narcissa whispered, tentatively reaching out to place her hand back on her son's knee, but he recoiled out of its way.

"Four days," Lucius declared evenly. "You have until July twentieth to either accept the proposal, or forever renounce the Malfoy name and leave these grounds."

Draco stared into those grey eyes, the ones he'd inherited, but no longer recognized the man who was glaring back. A heavy weight seemed to bear down on his shoulders as he stood from his seat.

"Very well. I will tell you my response soon enough."

And then he left.

ooOoo

"Holy fuck," Blaise whistled in sympathy as Draco cradled his head in his hands.

"Yeah." He accepted the bottle of butterbeer that Blaise plunked on the veranda's railing in front of him. The Zabini gardens bloomed around the pair, exotic flora and fauna from all around the world battling for their attention. The small, secreted gazebo in the alcoves of the grounds was a nice respite from reality.

"So…What are you going to do?" Blaise eventually asked, leaning against a white column, sipping his drink.

Draco sighed. "You know, I did actually come here for your advice, for once. I know that I can't marry Astoria – let alone produce an heir with her – but I can't exactly live with no money and nowhere to sleep, can I?" Blaise grimaced in agreement.

"If I was in your position, Draco, I would go through with the marriage."

"Really?"

"Yes. At least you could still have male lovers on the side. And you've always wanted to continue your line, haven't you?" Draco nodded, considering Blaise's words carefully.

"That's true…But I'm not sure I can allow myself to bend to my father's will anymore." Blaise raised an eyebrow inquisitorially. "He's no longer the man I once blindly pledged loyalty to… He was wrong, Blaise. He made so many mistakes during the war and after it that he then forced me and my mother to deal with for him." Draco leaned his elbows against the railing, gazing out at the marvellous gardens. "I just can't justify following his orders anymore." Draco swallowed his drink. "Especially when they make me as fucking miserable as this."

"So where will you go, then? You know your father will make it impossible for any pureblood family to take you in. And the rest of wizard-kind hates our type anyways."

Draco smiled sadly, watching one of the Zabini's famous, purebred Kneazles lead its litter around a glowing shrub. "I have my Black family trust, which would be sufficient enough funds for a year or so without my parents' aid. I suppose I'd rent some flat near Knockturn Alley or, maybe, in Muggle London. I guess I'd have to get a job of some sort." Blaise choked on his mouthful of butterbeer.

"_You?_ In _Muggle London?_ With a _job?_" Blaise laughed, loud and long. "Draco, I think you're overestimating your own strength of will. People like us were made to sit back, have heirs, and run estates - maybe get involved with Wizarding law or some other high-class employment if we get bored. That's it."

"Well, Blaise, if I had it my way, that's exactly what I would be doing! However, because I fancy blokes, everything is pretty fucked up. So please offer me some real advice instead of being a bastard, if you'd be so kind," Draco hissed, the stress from the past few weeks pressing on the back of his eyes.

The two didn't share anything more than silence for a long while.

"One of my step-fathers owned Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary before he died. The deed is now in the Zabini name. As far as I know, the room above the store is still empty. I could probably get my mother to rent it to you for really cheap." Blaise shrugged when Draco turned astonished, grateful eyes on him. "She's more accepting about gays and stuff, so it should be alright."

"The potions shop on Knockturn?" Draco asked, a small spark of hope igniting in his veins. His friend nodded. "Blaise, I would be in your debt if you could do that for me."

Blaise grinned back. "Good. It works out for everyone: my mother gets a tenant, you get a roof, and I get a favour from you that I'll call in one of these days." Blaise looked out at his sweeping lawns. "This also means Theo, Pansy, Greg and I can meet up with you when we're buying our Hogwarts supplies."

_Oh, right_. Draco had been so worried about his father's proposition that he'd completely forgotten about the letter he'd sent to McGonagall. _Fuck, I hope Hermes returns soon_.

"Oh, that's right. Well, please send me any documents that your mother will need me to sign before I can move there…Before the twentieth, as I'm sure you understand."

Blaise nodded. "Yeah, I'll talk to her tonight." Blaise reached out, patting Draco's shoulder reassuringly. "Maybe things will turn out alright for you, Dray-Dray."

"I hate you," Draco grinned before turning the bottle of butterbeer Blaise was holding into a huge spider.

ooOoo

Draco dropped his bag on the floor of his new home, a haze of dust engulfing his expensive loafers. His new lodgings were…dark. The ladder he'd climbed from inside the storage room of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary opened right onto the bedroom, which featured a wide bed whose crumbling, grey blanket seemed to be older than time itself, an ornate desk with legs carved into snakes, and a spindly nightstand with a spherical lantern that cast dim light on the eggplant-coloured walls. From the little else that Draco could see, the plain door on the left opened to a washroom.

And that was it.

"Everything to your liking, my dear?" Laima, the eerily pale, mysteriously widowed witch who ran the shop for the Zabini's, called up to Draco.

"Yes, thank you," he responded politely.

"Alrighty, dear. I'll treat you to some ice cream at Florean's tonight at seven." Draco didn't have the strength to tell the refreshingly kind woman that he was banned from most Diagon Alley establishments, so he didn't say anything at all.

Sighing heavily, but somehow feeling lighter than he had in weeks, Draco plopped onto his new bed, staring at the foreign ceiling while replaying the past hour in his mind.

_"Mother, Father, I am not going to marry Astoria Greengrass," Draco declared calmly from the entranceway of the dining room, his coat already on and his bag at his feet. Lucius stood, his face an unsurprised mask._

_ "So, that's your decision. Starting today, the Malfoy family has no heir. You lose all of the privileges of your birth, including any money that would have become yours. You are no longer our son." Lucius dealt the final blow, turning his eyes away from his child for the last time as he sat back down for his lunch. _

_ Draco nodded, not daring to look at his mother for fear that he would waver in his strength. "Goodbye," he said quietly before turning down the hallway that led to the front door, walls that he'd known since birth suddenly seeming alien around him as he walked away._

_ His hand was on the handle when he heard his mother call out for him. "Darling, hold on a moment," Narcissa pleaded as she neared her precious son. Draco faltered for one moment before turning, staring into her heartbroken gaze. "Just know that you will always be a Black. From this day onwards, you will be the Black's lone heir, and you now have access to not only your part of the Black vault, but the entirety." Narcissa leaned over, pressing cold lips to her son's cheek. "Good luck, my little Dragon."_

Draco stood, nearing the yellowed, thick glass of the lone window of his room. Knockturn Alley wound below his eyes, a rare customer flitting out of the open sunlight that bathed the scene. As Draco watched, a group of scarlet-uniformed Aurors paraded down the street, forcing a raggedly-dressed, crippled man to follow them out of sight.

_This isn't a safe world for anyone anymore._

ooOoo

Draco was dreadfully bored.

The muggy, still air of his room held his limbs down to his sweat-damp sheets, restricting him from movement. From what Draco could tell, it was late morning as thick, heavy sunlight pressed in through the cracks in the dark curtains that covered his lone window.

_No one ever mentioned how fucking dull freedom can be_, Draco mused as his bare skin continued to stick to his bed, his eyes watching the nothingness around him. He stretched languidly, arching his back as his spine popped satisfyingly. With almost a mind of its own, his pale hand trailed down his warm, flat stomach, teasing the waistband of his pants.

_When was the last time I wanked?_ Draco wondered absent-mindedly as his fingers pressed against the tight skin of his abdomen. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips as he circled his hardening erection with his thumb and forefinger.

His mind wandered, vague flickers of heat curling up his spine as he slowly drew his fingers around his cock. He recalled the slick sensation of a tongue coiling around his own, the rough pant of a voice in his ear. He sped up his hand, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Flickering images of his time with Theo filled his mind – short, dark hair, a crooked smirk, flashing green eyes –

_Fuck, I'm close. Wait, _green_ eyes?_

"Draco, dear?" Laima called from the shop below.

Draco yelped, sitting up so fast that he lost his balance and fell to the floor, tangled in sweaty sheets. "Yes, Laima?" He croaked, massaging his smarting elbow as the tented front of his pants quickly shrunk.

"Could you come down here for a moment?"

"One moment," Draco answered, hastily pulling on some clothes, feeling the flush on his cheeks. He climbed down the ladder, emerging from the back room to find Laima behind the counter, a frown on her thin, weathered lips.

"Oh, good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?" Draco suppressed his desire to turn red again, nodding slightly. "Good, good. Dear, I was hoping you might be free to help me restock some shelves this morning – it seems that my previous employee has been taken in to the Ministry for some questioning and won't be returning today."

"Very well, I can help. What was she taken in for, exactly?" Laima sighed as she began her graceful stroll to the supply room, Draco following behind.

"Who knows, dear? Those Aurors are so desperate for something to do that they'll take just about anyone these days." Draco nodded at the landlady's back, remembering the pack of Aurors from a few days ago that he'd seen prowling the streets. "…So be sure to be careful, Draco, if you plan on going out," Laima warned earnestly as she began pulling brilliantly-coloured bags of spices off one of her long, wooden shelves.

Draco nodded, a tendril of dread caressing his heart.

He pulled his sleeve further down his left forearm.

o

"Dear, refill the barrel of Grindylow fingernails," Laima called from behind the register. Her new employee nodded, placing the last bottle of unicorn blood on the shelf before heading to the storage room.

Draco inhaled the ethereal scent of dangerous ingredients as he turned left, finding the large bag of supplies. Grunting with effort, he heaved the bag onto his shoulder, slowly making his way into the shop. He found the depleted tub, opening the woven sack in his hands and pouring the green-tinted claws.

When the container was filled to the brim, he sighed, turning around to – "AH!"

He fell back, narrowly avoiding the barrel on his graceless fall to the dirty, wooden floor. "Pansy?" Draco asked peevishly as he gazed up at his amused friend. The girl shrugged, unrepentant.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, stock-boy," she grinned viciously as Draco got to his feet, brushing off unidentified dust from the back of his new uniform.

"Fuck off, Parkinson," he bit as he began stomping back to his room, heat rising to his face. He might not be ashamed of his job – in fact, this was the most fulfilled he'd felt in years – but having his friends see just how far he'd fallen was an embarrassment.

"Wait, Draco!" Pansy called, the mirth gone from her voice. Draco stopped, if reluctantly. "Why are you being so pissy?" Pansy asked curiously as she leaned around Draco's tense body, trying to catch his eye.

"Why are you here, Pansy? I have work to do."

"Yeah, I can see that," she responded as she judged his aproned outfit. "But I just wanted to come see how you were doing – I had to hear from Blaise that you'd been kicked out of your parents' place, Draco!" She pouted angrily.

"Maybe I didn't want the whole bloody universe knowing that I was disinherited, Parkinson. Now get out of my way; I have to start brewing our next batch of potions." Draco stared at the wall behind Pansy's head, waiting for her to move.

"…You're such a bitch sometimes, Draco. I came to give you this." She shoved a letter into his hands. "Your stupid bird must've gotten lost. Don't worry, I didn't read it," she sneered before storming off.

Draco watched her leave, the thick parchment weighing heavily in his hands. He looked down at the sender, his heart skipping a beat at McGonagall's familiar script staring back at him.

With stiff, fumbling fingers, he opened the envelope.

_Mister Malfoy,_

_In regards to the letter you sent me, I accept your request to a meeting here at Hogwarts. I will see you on July 23__rd__ at noon. _

_Until then,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

Draco swallowed dryly, acidic anxiety bubbling in his gut.

ooOoo

Hogwarts looked remarkably unchanged as Draco stood outside those iron gates, reacquainting himself with the castle he'd known so well. There were a few dark gaps in walls where spells had destroyed the exterior, but from afar, the school almost looked as intact as it had before the war.

As he crossed onto the grounds, a sharp stab of pain went through his Mark, as though his arm was cramping. But, in a moment, the pain was gone. Wary, Draco looked around, wondering if this was maybe a new security precaution. As he turned to face the lake, a tall figure caught his eye.

"Professor?"

Minerva McGonagall paused on her stroll around the lake, turning her handsome, if aged, features to her past student. Her spectacles gleamed in the afternoon sunlight as Draco approached, both of their faces expressionless.

"Good afternoon, Mister Malfoy," she nodded her head slightly, her tone balanced.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Draco replied as an instinct, only a moment later remembering that her official title would now be Headmistress. McGonagall merely raised a thin eyebrow, but let the moment pass. She gestured with her hand.

"Shall you join me on my walk, Mister Malfoy?" Draco agreed solemnly, keeping pace with the equally tall woman. The steps continued wordlessly, the crunch of grass and gravel underneath their shoes and the spirited chatter of birds in the willows around them their accompanying symphony. "So I understand that you wish to inquire about your lack of an invitation to return for your final year at Hogwarts," McGonagall finally stated as they paced along the shore furthest from the castle.

Draco took a quiet, deep breath. "Yes, Headmistress. I understand that all of my classmates, including the other Slytherins, were sent an invitation, except me. Now, I am not personally offended or upset because of my alienation, but I do wish to know why all other Hogwarts students, including others who were tried for war crimes, were gifted a second chance at their education when I was not."

"Those other students did not allow a dozen Death Eaters to penetrate this castle and cause numerous injuries and deaths, Mister Malfoy."

Draco did not flinch. "I do understand your position, Headmistress. I had just hoped that the discrimination that has now become an expectation for my interactions with the rest of wizarding kind would not extend to this timeless school."

"…I see." McGonagall turned her eyes to the marble casket in the distance. "Trust is easy to lose and hard to win back, Mister Malfoy." Draco resisted the urge to wince at the tone of pondering rejection. "But I suppose Hogwarts owes all of its former students a chance of redemption. How about we make a deal, Mister Malfoy?" Her sharp eyes turned on his.

"A deal?"

"Yes. If you come to Hogwarts for the remaining portion of the holidays and aid the continual process of rehabilitating the grounds without any negative incidents, I will assure you a place in the Hogwarts next year, and a measure of the faculty's trust restored. Does this sound reasonable?"

Draco's mind was racing with the possibilities, of his tentative residence above Laima's store, of his first dabbles of true freedom, of his hope that came with the idea of truly entering through those castle's doors again, and of his fear at the idea of facing all of those memoires.

"Yes. I will do it."

McGonagall's mouth turned up into a thin smile. "Very well. I assume you need time to tie up any loose ends you may have elsewhere, so I will expect you to be in my office at eight in the morning on Monday, the twenty-fifth."

"Yes, ma'am." Draco's mouth couldn't help but twitch into a weak smile as McGonagall began her leisurely trek back to her castle, her tall, dark frame becoming smaller the longer Draco stood on the banks of the lake he'd known in his youth.

_So it begins._

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: HAHAHAhaha, this fic has been rated M for seven chapters now, and there is only the slightest hint of smut. Sorry… I did say it was slow-burn, though! Well, see you in two weeks! (God, I hope I have Lesson Eight done by then. *nervous laughter* )**


	8. Lesson Eight

o

Lesson Eight

o

The walls were staring, whispering, screaming.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy. Good morning," McGonagall said, rising from behind the desk in her new office. Draco jerked his head into a nod, swallowing dryly as he purposefully avoided the gazes of the paintings surrounding him.

McGonagall's reading glasses gleamed in the morning light, but she said nothing about Draco's obviously nervous demeanour. "…I planned that you would acquaint yourself with your new lodgings this morning, and then I would introduce you to the other rebuilding volunteers at lunch." Draco nodded again, clutching his hands tightly together behind his back. McGonagall's eyes softened slightly.

"There is no need to be so tense, Mister Malfoy – there are very few on the crew who will judge you now."

Somehow, that didn't sound as reassuring as it was meant to.

o

To Draco's mild surprise, he wasn't given a room in the dungeons. "Hemmy is being told to show Mister Malfoy to the right Cathedral Tower, sir!" Draco gazed out of the windows of the tower, hearing his flat footsteps on the stone stairs and the fleshy _pat_s of Hemmy's bare feet. He'd known that Flitwick lived in one of these turrets, but he'd never climbed them to the top before.

"Hemmy is leaving Mister Malfoy to unpack now, sir! Headmistress McGonagall is telling Master Malfoy to be in the Great Hall at noon, sir!" Draco nodded and Hemmy was gone. He stood in front of the large oak doors of his new rooms, light sparks of curiosity beginning to overwhelm the pure anxiety that had overtaken him once he'd entered through these walls once again.

He reached out a hand, wrapping his fingers around the doorknob – "AH!" The doorknob wailed with pain, causing Draco to jump in surprise and stumble back. Two miniature, bronze eyes scowled at him, a shiny mouth twisted into a pout. "That hurt!" The shrill voice sounded like the crunch of aluminium mixed with the whine of steel under too much weight.

"…I apologize?" Draco said haltingly, blinking down at the handle to his rooms.

"Hmph!" The rounded face continued to pucker, glaring at him.

"May I go in now?"

"HMPH!" It sniffed in response. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Listen here, you," he ordered coldly. "I have too much to do to waste time trying to please another idiotic charm in this blasted castle. So unless you'd like to be Transfigured into my new ladle, I suggest you let me in."

Still scowling angrily, the doorknob turned itself, and the heavy door swung open, revealing the sunlit rooms that were now Draco's. The once-Slytherin nodded appreciatively, taking in the cream and mahogany-coloured common room that held a large, comfortable-looking couch and a handsome desk. Draco noticed his small bag sitting in the corner, no doubt deposited by a house elf some time ago. He strolled to one of the two doors on the far wall, one opening to a spacious washroom, the other onto his new bedroom.

He resisted the urge to whistle in admiration. The room was lofty, high ceilings seeming to stretch on for ages. The bed was large, crisp white sheets wrapped under a pale blue duvet, matching the walls around him. However, none of these held Draco's attention for long, as the gloriously expansive windows opened onto a marvellous view of the grounds, the wooden structures of the Quidditch stands breaking the green stretches of lawn.

It was funny how he'd never noticed how beautiful Hogwarts was until he'd thought he'd never be allowed back.

o

"…Well?"

"'Well,' what, Blaise?" The boy's disembodied head raised an eyebrow from the fireplace. Draco ignored the feeling of those eyes on his back, instead continuing his small amount of unpacking.

"Well, how's the bloody castle? Is it swarming with self-righteous Gryffindors yet?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. Apparently I'm meeting them all at lunch."

Blaise was quiet, the silence portraying many wordless thoughts. "Alright. Well, just be careful, Draco," he said with a surprisingly serious tone, the heartfelt words causing Draco to peek over his shoulder at his friend. He nodded in response.

Blaise cleared his throat. "Actually, that's not why I'm here. Pansy's pissed at you, did you know?" Draco sighed.

"Yes, Blaise, I know. That is a rather common occurrence between us." Blaise hummed mildly.

"Yeah, I suppose. She's just worried about you, Dray-Dray." Draco threw one of his cheapest quills at the fireplace, causing the connection to sputter as Blaise laughed. "Anyways, she wanted me to ask if you've heard the news about Potter."

Draco dropped the old Potions book he'd been stowing away. Keeping his back firmly to Blaise, he stiffly retrieved the text from the floor. "No, I have not," he stated coolly.

Blaise snorted. "Yeah, I can tell. Apparently, our great Saviour has been missing for weeks, now."

Draco blinked. _Oh, right. Granger didn't tell anybody but me and Theo_. "Oh?"

"Yeah. There are some rumours that he's in America, that he's shagging some superstar." Draco dropped the book again.

"You alright, Draco?" Blaise asked suspiciously. _I guess Theo kept my idiotic feelings to himself_, Draco mused as he turned a forced grin to the fire.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

o

His arms were crossed against his chest as he descended the stairwell, his body stiff and defensive. There were voices from the Hall nearby, laughter and boisterous talk that sounded as foreign as another language, but all he could hear was Blaise's news ringing in his ears.

_Fucking Potter, getting me, Theo, and Granger all worried about his disappearance, then showing up in bloody America with some whore. Fucking hell_, he seethed to himself as his footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

He stopped just out of sight of the large entranceway, unconsciously checking that his Mark was covered as he took a deep breath and purposely loosened his body into the haughty demeanour he'd perfected amongst these walls. _Merlin, let's just stop thinking about Potter for one fucking moment._

He stepped through the arch.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy. How wonderful for you to join us," McGonagall said calmly from her head at the lone table that occupied the hall. Two dozen or so heads turned in his direction, a few startlingly familiar faces staring at him.

"Malfoy is our new teammate?" George Weasley asked with shocked anger, Angelina Johnson looking as similarly furious next to him. Marcus Flint merely nodded in greeting at his once-Housemate before taking a sip from his tankard of alcohol. Oliver Wood's eyebrows were raised over hard eyes, but he didn't say a word as Draco continued to stand at the foot of the table. Roger Davies was watching Draco, a calculating glint in his intelligent gaze.

Draco didn't know most of the adults who filled the rest of the seats, some of them as old as his mother, others looking close to his own age. Noticeably, two young women were muttering to each other, very pink in the face as they silenced their giggles. McGonagall quirked an eyebrow at Draco, gesturing to the empty seat to her left. Draco silently took his seat in between Flint and the Headmistress, returning the looks that bounced off his skin.

"Well, dig in," McGonagall finally stated, the plates immediately filling with steaming meat and vegetables. Low conversation began as people moved on, momentarily, from Draco's surprising appearance.

"Community service?" Marcus finally grunted in Draco's direction.

"What?"

Flint turned dark eyes on him. "You here to repay war crimes?" Flint flashed the dark ink on his forearm. Draco swallowed.

"No, actually. I assume that is why _you_ are here?" Marcus nodded.

"One of the reasons."

Draco nodded, picking at stew in front of him.

"So what exactly do we do around here?" Draco finally asked Marcus quietly as Weasley sent the end of the table into peals of laughter with his tale. Marcus shrugged.

"Some of us are still rebuilding the exterior at the moment, but most of the team is trying to get the castle's magic back to its previous levels – it's been fucking unpredictable these past few weeks. Peterson even had to be sent to Mungo's because the library attacked him."

"The library–?"

"Yeah, books were cutting his skin, shelves were falling on top of him, it was a mess. We barely got him outta there in time. But I suppose that's why McGonagall isn't lettin' any minors on the team." Now that Marcus pointed it out, it made sense that Draco was the youngest ex-student sitting at the table – this work was potentially lethal, after all.

McGonagall cleared her throat; voices quieted in the Great Hall. "This afternoon I hope that Wood, Flint, Johnson, Weasley, Peals, Hobby and Malfoy will continue with their restoration of the seventh floor walls, whereas Davies, O'Donnell, Hood, Jin, Adder and Goldson will tackle the Prefect's washroom. The rest will join me in the dungeons to deal with the damage caused by last week's leak. And do try and remember that time is of the essence; Hogwarts will be filled with children in little more than a month, after all." There were murmurs and nods of agreement. "Very well. If everyone is finished," the plates cleared themselves while the group of witches and wizards stood, coalescing into their various clusters.

Draco turned to follow Marcus as their band of volunteers and criminals headed up the grand staircase to the seventh floor – Draco predicted that the moving staircases were too dangerous to use at this point if Hogwarts wasn't completely under control.

Sunlight streamed into the hallway where the men and women stopped, warm air drifting in through the many obvious cracks in the stone interior. "Alright," a woman at the front of the group said, turning to face the six other volunteers. "I'll start at that end," she pointed to the far end of the corridor, "with Peals; Weasley and Johnson can begin at the other. Wood and Flint – you two start in the middle and work your way outwards." Her frost-coloured eyes stopped on Draco. "Oh, and show Malfoy how this bloody thing works."

There were nods and determined agreements. The woman, Hobby, and the short man named Peals separated from the group as the one-eared Weasley and Johnson did the same, all the while glaring at Draco as they passed. Draco merely sneered in reply to their silent challenge.

"Well, Malfoy, let's get goin', then," Marcus grunted as he stepped towards one of the larger cracks near the base of the ancient wall, Wood following him.

Draco watched as Marcus knelt, pulling his wand from his sleeve as Wood did the same on his left side. They slowly pressed the tips of the wands to the edges of the splintered stone. Draco jumped slightly when there was a sudden spark of light, an odd golden strand flowing from the two men's wands to the fuzzy-looking sheen that now covered the hole.

"What magic are you doing?" Draco asked, fascinated as the two edges of the crack seemed to meet, sewing itself together. Marcus and Wood sharply drew up their wands, snapping the golden thread and falling away from the newly-mended wall.

Marcus stood, looking drained. "It's fucking messed up magic, is what it is. The castle takes our magical energy and uses it to repair itself. McGonagall's just worried why Hogwarts can't seem to do it without us," he said with a shrug and a long breath. Wood nodded shortly in agreement before moving a few metres down, where two slivers of light were leaking through.

Draco and Marcus followed. "Alright, Malfoy, so you try this time. You can do wandless magic now, right?" Draco blinked in surprise, but nodded, realizing that he had disclosed that fact in his interview with _The Snake Whisperer_, after all. "Alright, then, try and let Hogwarts take your magic somehow. Wood and I'll work on this one."

Draco nodded, kneeling to inspect the slight fissure more closely. Slowing his breath, he channelled his thoughts in the way Potter had taught him to all those weeks ago, feeling that electricity crackle inside of him. He gently raised his hand, his fingertips brushing against the coarse, cool granules of stone.

He suddenly felt it, a soft, powerful brush against his magic that felt as inquisitive as a child's. He breathed out a quiet laugh, amazed at the living _thing_ that lightly tasted the magic he was pushing towards it.

And then it bit – a sharp pull snapping in Draco's abdomen as Hogwarts took his energy and sapped the very life out of him.

He held onto the drain for as long as he could, the sensation feeling similar to that of casting his Patronus. But, quickly, he fell back onto his bent legs, breaking his connection and feeling that child-like, needy presence falling away.

"Merlin," he panted, staring at the flawless expanse of wall where the small crack had once filled. Marcus and Wood smirked in his direction before returning to their project, both reminiscing to the first time they'd connected their magical core with Hogwarts'. Draco sat on the cool, worn floor for a moment, simply breathing in the palpable power in the air.

And then he smiled, a curved, slow, boyish grin that hadn't been seen in years.

"I want to do that again."

o

That evening, Draco found himself in the Hogwarts kitchens, starving, sweaty, and surrounded by wasted witches and wizards.

"This happens _every_ night?"

Marcus snorted into his mug. "How do you think we rationalize working on this bloody castle every morning?" Draco smirked, sipping his drink as he sat next to Marcus on an upturned barrel. There was laughter everywhere, the scents of butterbeer and Firewhisky mingling with the aromas of baking bread and savoury spices. The one-eared Weasley had pulled out some of his miniature fireworks, regaling his growing audience with bright sparks, silhouetted by the glowing flames in the fireplace.

The surrounding faces seemed so foreign, no fear or pain or sorrow or anxiety: just happiness. "…It's not too bad, I guess." Draco thought out-loud. Marcus merely raised an eyebrow at him before engaging Wood in an elaborate discussion of Quidditch tactics.

Draco felt fuzzy, that floaty, warm sensation just beginning to fill his chest when the two giggling women from lunch meandered over to him. Both were tall and similarly thick; the taller, brunette one smirked at him, something glittering behind her glasses.

She held out a hand, which Draco took, surprised by the firm grasp. "'ello, Mr. Malfoy. I'm Anna, and this is Allison," she said with a nod in her very pink friend's direction.

"Hello," Draco said neutrally, a bit unnerved at the knowing way the two women were staring at him. "…Is there something you need from me?" That damning prick of fear caught in Draco's gut, who remembered the screams and threats of never-ending Howlers.

Anna's odd grin grew. "Not really. We just wanted to say how supportive we are of your and Potter's relationship – we think it's a great thing that you're doing," she said calmly, Allison nodding earnestly. Draco gaped silently, his features feeling frozen. "It's about time the wizarding community addressed its suppressed homosexual citizens." That determined glint in her eyes was a bit scary to Draco, who sat stationary, his forgotten drank dripping onto the floor.

"Well, that's all we wanted to say," Anna concluded, turning to Allison, who nodded in agreement. "Oh, and there's no way he's cheating on _you_ with some American," the bespectacled woman added, "so stay strong, alright?" Draco just stared, thankful when the unnerving pair of…_fans_ left him on his barrel.

" –the _fuck?_"

He glared at Marcus and Wood, who had burst out laughing next to him.

ooOoo

The first days were gruelling, physically and magically, as Draco continued to shape his mystical connection with Hogwarts. Soon, Draco _knew_ Hogwarts, could sense the familiar tinge of its presence in his gut as clearly as he could recognize his mother's favourite perfume. He felt as though he was building some sort of relationship, as though every time he held out his magical core he was reaching out a hand to the mystical existence that permeated the ancient walls. He noticed that could connect more quickly and more easily than anyone else on the team – he could allow Hogwarts to feed on his core longer, and could build up his energy faster afterwards. But he kept his ease to himself, unsure of how the rest of the team would react.

On his fourth morning, he was assigned to McGonagall's team, who was continuing to tackle the mess that had occurred in the dungeons. Apparently the windows in the Slytherin dorms had crackled, flooding the lower floors with murky lake water.

"In all the years that this school has stood, never has this happened," Draco heard McGonagall mutter as they, along with a handful of others, were drying the floors and mending the furniture that had been soiled.

"At least no one was in here when it happened," an Asian man, Rogers, Draco vaguely recalled, pointed out, causing McGonagall to nod in agreement.

Draco turned back to the painting he was hanging back on the wall of the first-year boys' room, recalling a distant memory of the soothing, night-time landscape that he'd watched before falling asleep all of those years ago, before their lives had turned to hell.

"Do you have any theories on why this happened, Headmistress?" Davies asked as he reinforced the magical shielding around the windows. Draco turned his head slightly, making sure he could hear the conversation.

McGonagall sighed, elegantly waving her wand over a destroyed blanket, repairing it before their eyes. "Not particularly, Davies. I doubt foul play, as Hogwarts has seemed to strengthen its own protection. No," she said distractedly, the lines around her eyes seeming deeper, "I believe this is Hogwarts doing. It's attacking itself for a reason."

"What reason?" Draco blurted, cursing himself when Davies and McGonagall turned their eyes to him.

"Well, that is the question, isn't it, Mister Malfoy?"

ooOoo

_Draco screamed silently, fingers clawing at the vicelike grip around his throat. He was dying, fear paralyzing his limbs, making his fumbling struggle clumsy and weak. _

_ "Draco," a voice hissed in his ear, a blood-warm presence breathing against his skin._

_ He grunted in agony, his arms falling, heavy, at his sides as oxygen was cut off from his brain. With his last breath of energy, he turned his head, eyes watering as he stared at his attacker._

_ Harry Potter grinned madly as his fingers tightened around Draco's jugular._

"Mister Draco Malfoy, sir!" Hemmy squeaked from the doorway, wringing his hands nervously.

Draco sat upright, panting, his muscles stiff and his shirt drenched in sweat. He took a moment to simply breathe, the backs of his eyelids seared with the maniacal glint in Potter's eyes. "What is it?" Draco finally mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, adjusting to the misty light that caressed his skin.

"Mistress McGonagall is requesting everyone in the Great Hall now, sir!" Draco sighed, nodding as he untangled himself from the nest of sheets. Hemmy disappeared, leaving Draco to sluggishly dress himself and groggily fix his hair.

He began his stroll to the Hall, his eyes on the distant Quidditch pitch as he stepped down the many stairs of the cathedral tower. _I suppose I should have known these nightmares would return…I am _here_, after all_, Draco thought absently as he made his way to the grand stairwell, picking at a stray thread on his grey waistcoat. _At least I didn't destroy the bloody room._

"Ah, Malfoy," Draco looked up, seeing Marcus perched on the bottom step, cradling a mug of strong-smelling coffee in his rough hands.

"Flint. What's going on, exactly?" Draco asked warily, hearing the buzz of excited chatter in the next room. Marcus grinned oddly.

"Didn't you know? It's Harry Potter Day." Draco's mouth twitched into a frown. _Right. That idiotic holiday. Is it really the 31__st__ already?_

"So…what? Is there some sort of banquet or something?" Draco asked peevishly, eyes flicking towards the loud, out of sight Great Hall. Marcus' odd smirk widened.

"Just go see for yourself."

Feeling even more hesitant, Draco nodded, slowly stepping into the noisy chamber. No one else noticed him enter, as they were distracted by something much more interesting.

Draco's lips parted in shock.

"And may I introduce the man of honour: Mister Harry Potter himself!"

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: So…that happened. Anyways, the next chapter might be a bit early or a bit late – I am graduating exactly two weeks from today, after all. :P**

**Well, see you soon-ish!**


	9. Lesson Nine

o

Lesson Nine

o

Draco Malfoy was furious.

And too buzzed to care.

Someone, Draco guessed it was Weasley, had supplied this early celebration with a superfluous amount of liquor, leading to the Slytherin's current state of inebriation. He muttered darkly to himself as he watched Potter get mobbed by the grateful throng of witches and wizards, the dark head of hair barely visible over the masses.

"Lovers' spat?" Davies asked lightly from Draco's side, causing the boy to startle slightly, spilling some of his drink to the floor. Draco turned to glare at Davies, who merely smiled in return.

"You already know the answer to your idiotic insinuation, Davies, so don't waste my time by asking it." Davies chuckled at Draco's growl, raising his glass of water in agreement.

"Well, I suppose you're right, Malfoy. I just wanted to know if your sour mood could be attributed to anything other than Potter's arrival." Draco narrowed his eyes at the Ravenclaw, who was gazing in the Saviour's direction. "And I think I have my answer." Davies' grin took an odd twist. "I suppose some things never change. Good morning, Malfoy," Davies nodded once before turning away, leaving Draco to his secluded corner.

It took two more sips of scalding alcohol and five more overheard squeals from Potter's fans before Draco made his huffy exit from the hall. He didn't have a destination in mind as he stomped through the echoing hallways, but he found himself outside of the entryway to the Slytherin common room, the once-secret entrance now gaping and crumbling from mould and decay.

He stumbled through the cavernous and empty room, making his way to the stairwell that led up to the boys' dorms. He ignored the large patches of moss and debris that had yet to be cleared away as he continued to climb.

The door creaked loudly as Draco pushed it open, revealing his old room. He stepped inside, walking to the window and staring out over the surface of the lake, visible only in the uppermost rooms of the dungeons.

Rage welled up in his chest as he gazed at the murky, dark depths of water. "Fucking Potter," he seethed as he turned to plop down on his old bed, the wooden frame groaning beneath his weight. _How dare he just show up here, without any sort of reason? He's been fucking missing for weeks – even the public knows now, for Merlin's sake. He better have a fucking good excuse for this shit_, Draco thought heatedly as he scraped his fingernails against the bare mattress, remembering the awful weeks Potter had been gone.

_Oh, please. You're just relieved he's back where you can watch him_, that traitorous voice muttered dryly in his mind, causing Draco's expression to twist into something bitter.

But he didn't deny it.

o

Draco strode through the fifth floor hallway, wondering how he was going to avoid Potter for however long he was going to be in the bloody castle when he heard voices coming from the Prefects' bathroom. He peaked into the open entranceway, finding Wood and Flint working on the broken windows and walls.

"Oh, Malfoy," Flint nodded in greeting as he stretched his tired limbs.

"Why are you two working? Shouldn't you be celebrating 'Harry Potter Day' like the rest of the masses?" Draco tried not to sneer, but failed. Flint raised an amused eyebrow, while Wood simply shrugged.

"I think I'll survive without hearing Potter's glory days recounted for the thousandth time," Marcus grunted, causing Draco's mouth to twitch into a smile. Merlin, he'd missed Slytherins.

"So," Wood spoke up. "You gonna lend a hand?" He gestured at the fissures running through the elaborately decorated bathroom. Draco paused for only a moment before nodding, climbing down into the pool-like tub in the floor, nearing the daunting crack that split the stone.

He closed his eyes, the tense lines fading from the corners of his thin lips as he kneeled. He lightly ran his first two fingers against the sharp cut in the marble, his mild smile growing as he greeted the iridescent, infinite force that he'd come to feel whenever the castle responded, that brilliant intelligence pushing all other thoughts from his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he began the now-familiar steps to establish the bond, and he watched as the edges began to connect.

"Fucking hell, Malfoy," Wood wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he stood on the edge of the bathtub, turning a dry smirk onto Draco as he watched. "How do you do this so fucking quickly?"

Draco shrugged, feeling satisfied as he let Hogwarts feed at his magic.

But then something was wrong.

Draco felt it in his core first, the amount of power he was sharing with Hogwarts suddenly fluctuating, as though Hogwarts had, in a quick moment, lost a large source of energy. And then a sharp stab of what Draco could only register as rage came through the link.

Then the rumbling began, an ominous, irate grating that began deep under Draco's feet. Draco opened his eyes, his mind blanking when the crack beneath his hand began to widen, a dark, never-ending hole opening in front of his eyes.

"Malfoy!" Marcus hollered from the entranceway, shouting some sort of muddled spell that sent Draco shooting out of the bathtub and into one of the walls, a dull, flat pain dominating his senses as he fell to the floor, his leg crumbled beneath him.

Marcus and Wood were shouting something as the pool's floor turned into nothingness, and cracks began to spider up the sides of the walls. "-out of here, now!" Wood shouted over the sound of destruction, running over to Draco's side and heaving him onto his side. Marcus gestured wildly from the door, nearing his two teammates to help their escape.

They'd only just made it out of the entrance when it snapped shut behind them, allowing the three men to make it a few more feet into the corridor before they collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily.

"Shit!" Wood cursed loudly, hitting his fist against the unforgiving stone. Marcus grunted in agreement as Draco grasped at his ankle, breathing heavily.

"Malfoy? Y'alright?" Marcus asked suspiciously as he sat up, looking at the fellow Slytherin with thought.

"No," Draco hissed, scorching pinpricks of pain climbing up his leg as the adrenaline began to cool in his veins. "I need to see Madame Pomfrey. Now," he emphasized as his ankle swelled as he watched, and angry, purple veins climbed up his skin as he lifted his trousers.

"No Madame Pomfrey here, mate. All we've got is Angelina," Wood said as he kneeled on Draco's left, Marcus on his right as the two men shrugged Draco's body between them, casting a quick spell to make his body a bit lighter. "She was training to be a Mediwizard at Mungo's before George talked her into helping here." But Draco wasn't listening, his nausea rising with each bump of the stairs against his foot.

"I don't think he's hearing a word you're saying."

Dull, throbbing pain.

"Nah, I guess not. That leg looks pretty messed up."

Sharp knives of scalding heat.

"Yeah. Where did you say Johnson was?"

Rough grinds of nausea in his gut.

"Uh, I dunno."

They stopped. Draco groaned.

"Figure we should just go to the Hall? Potter's party is probably still going on. Johnson might be there."

"No!" Draco panted as his two handlers began down the last set of stairs to the Hall. "Not Potter!"

Draco saw Marcus and Wood exchange a perplexed look. Wood turned slightly concerned eyes to Draco. "Malfoy, someone needs to fix your leg. Soon," he emphasized, still moving towards the celebrations.

Draco groaned again, resigning himself to his unfortunate fate. "Fucking Potter," he breathed as the odd trio stepped into the Hall.

The group of twenty or so witches and wizards fell silent as Marcus and Wood gingerly sat Draco down on the corner of one of the unused tables on the edge of the room. "Angelina?" Wood called the woman over, with Weasley following behind.

Johnson frowned at Draco, clearly having some sort of moral debate if she was going to help him or not. But she finally sighed, kneeling and pulling out her wand. "What did you do to him?" she asked Marcus coldly, who glared in response.

"I was trying to save him from the bloody bathroom, that's what I did," Marcus replied with a sneer.

"You saved him…from a bathroom." Draco squirmed as Johnson lightly tapped her wand against his ankle, causing a numbing sensation to run up his leg.

Wood spoke up. "We were in the Prefects' bathroom, doing the typical repairs, when everything when to shit."

"Like the library?" Someone from the gathered crowd asked. Draco stifled his grunt of pain as Johnson sharply prodded his injury, but the throbbing almost immediately began to recede. He was finally coherent enough to pay attention to the conversation, and the faces around him. He resented the part of him that was disappointed to not see Potter amongst the group.

Wood nodded. "Exactly. We're lucky we got out of there at all," he said grimly.

"Someone's going to need to tell McGonagall about this," Weasley pointed out.

Wood and Marcus shared a glance. "I'll tell her," Wood decided. "Anyone know where the Headmistress went?"

"She took Potter on a tour of our renovations. I think she said they were going to start with the new shields," O'Donnell piped up, pushing her glasses up her nose. Wood nodded, sharing one last pointed look with Johnson before he strode from the room.

That seemed to be the cue for the rest of the group to disperse, most mumbling about checking their previous projects to ensure future safety or some nonsense. Draco rolled his eyes; _like any of these plebeians can stop Hogwarts when it gets angry._

"Alright, Malfoy, you should be fine now," Johnson said as she stood, brushing dust from the knees of her robes. Draco nodded his thanks, not willing to mutter the words. The Gryffindor frowned and turned away, Weasley following her after tossing a sneer in Draco's direction.

Draco soon sat in the empty Hall, unconsciously running his fingertips over the thin skin on his ankle as he balanced his body on the edge of the long table. He watched the grey, indistinguishable blobs of clouds condense on the infinite ceiling above him, suffocating the last, weak rays of sunlight.

The hall was dark. And quiet.

"Draco."

The Slytherin startled, tipping off of his precarious perch and falling to the floor in a painful heap of pale limbs. _Fuckingshitcuntbastardsonofabitch_, he fumed as he turned his head to peer over the top of the table he'd only just been seated on, knowing that voice too well.

Harry Potter stared back at him, eyebrows raised in an odd mixture of concern, amusement, and consternation.

o

"Are you alright?"

"…"

"…Are you going to say anything?"

"…"

"Do you need help getting up?"

"…"

"Draco?"

"Stop calling me that, _Potter_," Draco finally hissed, standing with his chin held high. Potter stared into his eyes with an intensity Draco had forgotten.

"…Fine," Potter said simply, his unblinking gaze still focused on Draco. The two men stood there, a world of distance between them.

"Well, Potter, as _riveting_ as this conversation has been," Draco smiled acidly as his sarcasm echoed into the rafters, "I have more important things to do than share silence with the Boy Wonder." Potter's face remained expressionless as Draco began to walk his way, knowing that he'd have to pass Potter to get through the entrance.

He couldn't help but hold his breath as he stepped past Potter's stiff body, close enough to catch a hint of the smell and heat of the tan man's skin. He had huffed out a sigh of relief and…dissatisfaction as he continued a metre past Potter when an iron-like grip clamped down on his left wrist, bringing his body to a jarring halt.

"What the fuck, Potter?" He snarled as he turned to face the man, trying to free his arm. Potter didn't reply at first, digging his blunt fingernails into the pale flesh of Draco's forelimb.

"I need to explain, Draco," the words were serious, those green eyes so unnervingly earnest that Draco stopped struggling for a brief moment.

But then the fire of resentment he'd been tending all those weeks flared up in his gut.

"And why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction of giving your pithy excuses? You fucking vanished for weeks, leaving me to deal with the shit-storm caused by those fucking articles." Draco sneered, his mouth twisted into a cruel grin as he confidently returned Potter's stare. "There isn't an excuse good enough in the entire fucking world to make us anything other than enemies, Potter."

"I don't want to give _excuses_, Malfoy – I just want you to know why," Potter glared, but loosened his grip, allowing Draco to tear his arm away.

"How clear to I have to make this, Scarhead?" Draco hissed, angry irrationality keeping reason from his mind. "I don't give a fuck about what you've been doing this whole fucking time – so leave me alone!"

He didn't give Potter time to respond as he pivoted on his heel and stomped away, his mind blank with rage.

o

Minutes or maybe hours later, Draco found himself on the seventh floor, his footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted corridors he'd known so well back in sixth year. His breath was still coming out in odd, broken pants, but his heart-rate gradually slowed, allowing him to actually think about his encounter with Potter.

His eyes traced the fading half-crescents on his skin where Potter's fingers had been mere minutes before. His feet stopped, and a deep sigh expelled from his chest. He reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. _Why exactly did I rebuff Potter so thoroughly? Didn't I _want_ to hear his excuses?_

"…Fuck," he mumbled finally, sulkily stowing his hands in the pockets of his robes as he began walking mindlessly again. He stopped when he came to an eerily familiar expanse of wall, the hideous tapestry of dancing trolls gone, no doubt destroyed during the war.

_I need a place to be alone._

_ I need a place to be alone._

_ I need a place to be alone._

The wall remained blank, unresponsive. Draco's eyes narrowed as he repeated his desire, and walked three times in front of the Room of Requirement.

Nothing.

Draco huffed out an angry breath, frustration bleeding through him. "Fine, dammit!" He hissed, kicking the barrier, stubbing his toe painfully and scuffing his last pair of expensive loafers.

He turned and stormed away, wondering if this day could get any fucking worse.

o

_He was in the Great Hall again, Potter's painfully tight grip on his forearm, those emerald eyes piercing his own with an unreadable emotion. "I need to explain, Draco," the words floated through the air, feeling distorted to Draco's ears._

_ "And why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction of giving your pithy excuses?" The biting remark seared itself on Draco's tongue. _

_ Potter's mouth twitched into an odd smile, throwing Draco off-guard. _

_ "Because I left for you." Draco felt his brow wrinkle in confusion, his heart speeding up. _

_ "…'For me'?" He repeated warily – but Potter wasn't listening, those green eyes and those pink lips leaning into his space._

_ And then they were kissing. _

_ A war of emotions ripped through Draco's chest as Potter firmly grasped the back of his neck, that rough thumb rubbing against the joint in Draco's jaw, forcing it to open to Potter's tongue._

_ Confusion._

_ Anger._

_ Shame._

_ Lust._

_ Desperation._

_ He kissed back._

Draco opened his eyes.

He stared at the dark nothingness of the ceiling.

The darkness laughed noiselessly at him.

He scrambled out of his sweat-soaked sheets, feeling unable to breathe. He sat on the edge of his mattress, panting as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the windows, the dappled light from thousands of stars dotting his skin.

Heart still racing, he stood on stiff legs, pulling on a jumper over his thin shirt before stepping through his darkened rooms into the hallway.

He walked, his bare feet turning icy on the cool stone.

Moonlight danced around him, on him, through him.

The halls were silent as the bare few other inhabitants of the castle slept in their rooms, unaware of Draco's night-time stroll. He focused on his breaths, on the steading _thump, thump_ of his heartbeat. The disquiet, the anxiety seemed to lurk behind him, kept at bay by his concentration.

Draco stopped, registering his surroundings as somewhere on the sixth floor. He sighed, an echo of a memory in his ears. He stared out the window, watching the glistening mystery of the lake, his mind entertaining the idea of submerging himself in the waters and never having to come back up.

"-_cus!_"

Draco turned his head in the direction of the hastily muffled mutter, his heart suddenly pounding. His footsteps were a mere whisper of a sound as he neared the nearby abandoned classroom a few metres away, his body curling into a smaller curve as he approached the small sliver of light coming from the crack in the doorway. He leaned in minutely, silently peering into the classroom.

He raised his pale hand to cover his sharp breath.

His first thought was that Wood and Marcus were fighting physically, but his face heated when he realized they were merely snogging violently, with Wood sitting on the edge of one of the desks while Marcus stood in between his legs.

Warmth climbed up Draco's spine as he heard the slick noises from the men's clashing mouths and the choked groans as Marcus reached down to undo the front of Wood's trousers. Wood laughed throatily as Marcus murmured something in his ear, too quiet for Draco to hear from his crouched position at the door.

"I know, you bastard," Wood replied with a drowsy smile before wrapping his arms around Marcus' shoulders and pulling him back onto the desk with a dull _thud!_ and more chuckles from the two men.

Draco pulled back from the view, breathing deeply as he _thunk_-ed his head against the stone wall. He couldn't help but notice the front of his tented pyjama bottoms and remember the dream he'd been trying to outrun._ Merlin, if I'd stayed asleep longer, would Potter and I be doing…that?_

He didn't even try to smother the part of him that answered _I hope so_.

ooOoo

Draco hadn't fallen back to sleep, so he rose early to dress and head down to the kitchens. He'd had to learn many secrets of Hogwarts back in his school days, and the secret entrance to the kitchens was only one of several he'd discovered.

The painting swung open, revealing the bustling heart of the castle. He caught the attention of a passing group of house-elves and procured an apple and some toast before he headed back out, feeling in desperate need of some fresh air.

The grounds were wet with dew, and sparkled invitingly in the early morning light. Draco began making his way towards the lake, munching on his apple, when a dark figure caught his eyes.

"Prof– Headmistress?" Draco quickly corrected, surprised at seeing the older woman up at such an hour.

McGonagall watched Draco over her spectacles. "Good morning, Mister Malfoy. Would you care to join me on my morning walk around the lake?" Draco nodded, stepping alongside the headmistress as they continued along her well-worn path around the silent waters.

"I heard about what transpired in the Prefects' washroom yesterday," McGonagall stated after a few minutes, causing Draco to turn and meet her gaze. "Is your leg healed?" Draco nodded, swallowing his final bite of apple before Vanishing the core with a flick of his fingers.

"Yes; Johnson did a fine job." McGonagall nodded, looking deep in thought.

"I don't quite know what to make of these events, Mister Malfoy. It seems as though Hogwarts is trying to defend itself from something, but is confusing us with its attackers." McGonagall sighed. "Hundreds of children are due to arrive here in three weeks, yet I cannot even assure the safety of the group of volunteers that are here presently. If only…" She trailed off, staring at something in the surrounding hills that Draco couldn't see.

"Headmistress?" McGonagall blinked, seemingly breaking from her thoughts.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm not sure if this is relevant information, but I believe Hogwarts must be spending a large amount of its magical energy on something internal, something that isn't going away, causing a constant lack of magic for the castle to repair itself."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Please explain."

"Well, Hogwarts is similar to one of us, a living witch or wizard with a magical core that can withstand a certain amount of use before it needs time to recover – like any other muscle in the body." McGonagall nodded. "I think this core is what the volunteers are tapping into every time we help the castle repair itself – we are giving it a tiny bit more magic to fill up a mostly empty supply."

"But why is Hogwarts' magic stock so low?"

Draco's mouth turned into an odd smile. "Well, that is the question, isn't it? If we can find what Hogwarts is constantly having to spend all of its magic destroying or neutralizing, we can stop it, allowing Hogwarts to naturally replenish itself and complete the repairs as expected."

McGonagall nodded, pondering. "Now, why did you say you believe the threat is internal?"

"That simply makes the most sense. After all, like you theorized before, Hogwarts seems to be confusing us with whatever it is trying to destroy when it uses up its large bouts of energy inside itself – I actually felt that surge when I was helping repairs in the Prefects' bathroom."

"You could feel the surge? How?"

"Well, I no longer use a wand for my spells, as my magic was too unstable after…everything in the war. In wandless magic, I have to channel energy straight from my core and modify it into whatever spell I need; I suppose I could feel more intimate changes in Hogwarts because our cores were directly connected, with no wand as a barrier."

"Fascinating," McGonagall noted with an interested grin. "Your hypothesis sounds logically sound, Mister Malfoy. I believe I will write to a few of my contacts and ask their thoughts on the matter. I thank you for sharing this with me. Now, please excuse me."

Draco smiled politely, watching her turn and begin the walk to the castle. He sighed, feeling oddly happy in his chest, as though he'd contributed to the cause. His grin turned more natural as he continued his circuitous walk, kicking at the loose rocks on the shores.

Harry Potter watched from the tree-line, a calculating glint in his eyes.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: S'up! So, here's the chapter, a little late like I predicted. Anyways, I hope to post the next on next Friday like usual, so see you then!**

**(But, Merlin, do these things get harder and harder to write with each lesson – even with an outline, it's like pulling teeth!)**

**(Oh, and did you notice that there still hasn't been any Drarry smut? Man, I said slow-burn, but it's been around 33000 words and there's been some UST, some interrupted masturbation, and now some voyeurism. But no real smut. Hahaha.)**


	10. Lesson Ten

o

Lesson Ten

o

The Great Hall was alive with chatter, the bustling of an excited group of isolated men and women who were expecting new additions. Draco wryly wondered if this is how they'd acted when they heard about his arrival as he munched on his bite of cereal.

His eyes unconsciously flicked towards Potter, who was standing in the doorway with McGonagall, smiling at something the headmistress had said. Draco looked away sharply when Potter turned towards him, seemingly feeling his gaze.

"'Morning, Malfoy," Marcus greeted as he and Wood slid onto the bench across from him. Draco nodded in return, unable to meet their eyes as he felt his face heat. He couldn't erase the memory from the other day from his mind – the intimacy he'd stumbled upon.

But it was obvious now, as he stole glances over his bowl; it was in the casual brushing of their shoulders, the way Wood passed Marcus the marmalade without any words – simple acts of domesticity that only came from ages of companionship.

He glanced at Potter again.

"'bout time the post got here," Wood muttered around his eggs, watching the ceiling as a few dozen owls soared into the Hall, meeting their owners with a near-silent _swish_ of feathers. Draco shrugged to himself, uncaring as Marcus and Wood began divvying out sections of the _Prophet_.

Suddenly, something sharp pricked his shoulder, and a great gust of wind ruffled his hair. "Hermes?" Draco asked with pleasant surprise, the great bird having been absent long enough that he had assumed it had abandoned him.

The owl nipped his ear affectionately, its steely, yellow gaze softening under his master's attention. The bird dropped a heavy bundle of letters on Draco's lap before beginning to nibble at his untouched meat.

Draco's heart skipped uncomfortably at the familiar font on the letter, knowing his mother's script better than his own. He swallowed thickly as he peeled open the seal, drawing out the parchment.

_Draco,_

_My little Dragon, I hope you are well. It's been weeks since you left, and I've heard from Mrs. Zabini that you cancelled your lease in Knockturn and have moved to Hogwarts. I wish you the best, darling, in whatever you plan on doing._

_The reason I am writing this, even though your father has distinctly ordered me to not contact you–_

Draco smirked, practically feeling his mother's bemusement through the paper: his father was no match for her, truly.

_-is that the amount of requests for interviews from various publishing establishments has reached a staggering amount. I've been collecting them, making sure your father does not destroy them in his silly whims, and I've sent them with Hermes, who appeared here yesterday, having been with the Parkinson's for many days, apparently. I do hope you consider these requests, Draco; some of them are from formidable publications, after all._

_Well, darling, there is little else I have to say, other than that I love you and will always be here if you decide to return to the Manor._

_~ N. Malfoy_

Draco's throat felt tight as he brushed his thumb over the inky _I love you_, feeling flustered.

"Malfoy? Y'alright?" Marcus asked gruffly, watching the blonde over his article on new Quidditch tactics. Draco nodded tightly, clearing his throat as he set the letter aside, shifting his gaze to the bundle of attached documents.

_Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet, Merlin's Quill, The Sorcerer's Scribe_…the list went on and on, stacking up to a total of twelve offers from various magazines and newspapers. Draco narrowed his eyes at the last letter.

"What the hell is _OUT: Wizard Edition_?"

Marcus and Wood looked at him oddly. "…It's the magical world's leading queer magazine. Why?"

"They want to interview me, apparently."

"…Is that a good thing?"

Draco shrugged as there was a sudden spike in the noise level of the hall, and a flurry of activity rippled through the room, focused around the door. The three seated men turned their heads, watching as McGonagall parted the crowd long enough for Draco to catch a glimpse of bushy hair, gangly limbs, and –

"Blaise?" Draco breathed, astonished as his friend basked in the attention of the collected group. Draco stood from his seat, dazedly nearing the collected masses. Blaise caught his eye, beaming mischievously as Draco reached out, punching him squarely on the arm.

"Oi! What was that for?" Blaise yelped, rubbing at the smarting wound.

"What the fuck are you doing here? And why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Well, McGonagall was asking around for those who were erudite with wandless magic and its theories, and I happily volunteered my services."

"Since when have you been a leading source of information on wandless magic?"

Blaise shrugged. "Well, after your _SW_ article, Theo, Pansy and I started to read up on it." The dark-skinned man blinked, clearing his throat. "You know, since we had nothing better to do; it's not like we were worried or anything." Draco grinned, feeling oddly warm.

"Of course, idiot."

Blaise shrugged again, returning the grin. "Oh, that reminds me!" He turned around, peering over the chattering crowd. "Oi, that's your cue!"

Draco's grin widened as Theo and Pansy walked through the archway, rolling their eyes at Blaise's introduction. Draco pushed through the edge of the crowd, losing his words as he stared at his friends.

"Hey," Theo finally said with a handsome smile.

"Hi," Draco replied, hoping Potter was watching as he leaned forward and kissed Theo lightly on the corner of his mouth. Theo's eyebrows were scrunched in mild confusion, but he grinned back.

"Fine, forget about me again, then," Pansy pouted. Draco schooled his features into something more neutral, remembering the unpleasantness from their last meeting.

"Pansy. How are you?" The petite girl narrowed her eyes at him.

Then she sighed. "Look, Dray-Dray, you said some bitchy things, I said some bitchy things – let's just get over ourselves, shall we? Because I missed harassing you all the time."

Draco stared at her for a long moment before allowing his mouth to curve into a smug grin. "I knew you'd surrender first."

"Well, fuck you, bitch," Pansy said fondly as she pinched Draco's exposed hand. The four Slytherins laughed, feeling giddy amongst their school's ancient walls.

o

"Oh, Marcus! How are you?" Pansy gushed as they joined Draco's breakfast companions. An odd blush peppered Marcus' cheeks, causing Wood to raise an eyebrow.

"Well, anyways," Blaise cut in. "what's the situation around here?"

"You mean with the castle?" Draco surmised.

Blaise snorted. "No, of course not. I know all about that; what's up with you and Potter? Why is he even here? I thought he was in the United States." Draco shrugged, levitating his fork lazily.

"…I heard he was off doing a favour for the Ministry," Wood said nonchalantly, stealing the Quidditch statistics from Marcus.

"Yeah," Theo added. "My mother has friends in the Auror Department who heard he was in Romania."

"Romania? What the fuck is in Romania?" Draco sneered as he saw Potter hug Weasley with a relieved look on his face, Granger watching the two with a pleased smile. Something prickly snared in his gut.

"Dragons, mostly," Pansy shrugged. "But, really, Draco – what's Potter been up to? How long has he been here?"

"Not much can happen in two days, Pansy. And it's not like me and Potter are on good terms, even. Why do all of you seem to think that?" He glanced at Theo suspiciously, who shook his head, silently telling Draco that he hadn't shared anything with the other two about Draco's idiotic feelings.

"You've always been a little bit obsessed with Potter, mate," Blaise said simply as he stole a piece of toast off of Draco's forgotten plate.

"Fuck off. Potter was obsessed with me – not the other way around. He fucking stalked me all during sixth year."

"Draco, let's not go into this saga again, alright? All I can see is that you and Potter clearly haven't talked things out yet, considering all of those longing looks you keep sending each other. The homoerotic tension is choking me," Pansy said dryly, her grin widening as Draco whipped his head around to see if Potter really was staring at him. The barely-noticeable blush on Potter's turned cheeks was enough of a tell to make Draco's face heat.

"I think you and Potter need to have a little tête-a-tête, which, sadly, is not as dirty as it sounds. You two are our leading experts on wandless magic, after all. This whole inner-Hogwarts-disease conundrum is resting on your shoulders, Dray-Dray."

The table was quiet for a long moment as the reality of Pansy's words rang in everyone's ears.

"'Dray-Dray'?" Marcus finally asked incredulously, causing Theo, Blaise and Pansy to crack up with hysterical laughter.

"You know what? Fuck all of you," Draco said dismissively as he roughly stood from the table, ignoring Theo's pleads to come back as he stormed out of the hall, the bundle of letters trapped in his grasp.

He was halfway up the grand staircase, just beginning to feel the angry energy drain from his fingertips when fast footsteps began sounding behind him. "Hey, Malfoy, hold on a moment," Potter called, Granger and Weasley meandering at the bottom of the steps. Draco's feet froze, almost involuntarily, and he turned to face the man.

"What, Potter?" He asked icily, focusing on a spot somewhere near Potter's ear.

Potter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I was thinking –"

"That must've been a novel experience."

Potter frowned, but continued, "that we really need to sit down at talk through the possible threats that Hogwarts is using its energy to protect against – you know, the one you talked about with McGonagall?"

"Does that 'we' include Weasley and Granger?"

Potter paused. "…It doesn't have to."

Draco licked his dry lips, finally meeting Potter's eyes. "Fine. Are you free now?"

Potter's gaze flicked to his two friends, some telepathic communication passing between the three. "Sure. Now is good. Wanna head to the library?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It's ruined, remember? We haven't gotten around to making it any less deadly yet."

"Oh, right." Potter rubbed the back of his neck again. "Um…"

Draco huffed out an impatient breath. "Just follow me, Potter." He stuffed the letters into his robes as he brushed past Potter, retracing his steps back to the Entrance Hall. He steadily ignored Weasley, who glared at him, and merely nodded at Granger, who gave a tentative smile.

He pushed open the front doors, taking a deep breath of the air, revelling in that heavy, anticipatory freshness that precluded a rainstorm. He could feel Potter's presence behind him as he strode towards the far-off Quidditch pitch. The wooden stands loomed above the green plains, outlined by the dark, billowing clouds approaching.

"Are you sure we should talk out here? It seems like it'll rain soon," Potter mumbled as he walked alongside Draco, who raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Do you forget that your one of the most powerful wizards of our century often?" Potter winced awkwardly, a mumbled "Oh, right," on his lips.

Draco climbed the stairs into the stands, enjoying the utter emptiness of the skeletal-looking arena. It was oddly calming. He walked a ways down the row, finally taking a seat somewhere in the middle of the Ravenclaw section. Potter warily sat next to him, a good deal of space between their bodies.

"Well," Draco broke the quiet tension pitilessly, "what do you have to add to my theory?"

There was a ruffling of parchment, and Draco turned his head to see Potter holding a dingy-looking stretch of paper. "And what is that, exactly?"

"This is the Marauder's Map. It's a map of Hogwarts – it's a little outdated, considering all the repairs going on, but I figured looking at Hogwarts' various parts might make possible answers come a little easier."

Draco leaned closer, amazed as he watched tiny dots move around the castle, and the two dots that were sitting in the Quidditch stands, right where he and Potter were sitting. "This is extraordinary magic, Potter. How did you make it?" Draco asked, momentarily distracted as his thirst for knowledge reared its head.

Potter's mouth twisted sadly. "I didn't make it, Malfoy," he said simply, something in his tone making Draco drop the line of conversation.

"Alright, then; we still need to know what we're looking for before a map can really be of any help." Potter sighed, a gust of cool wind ruffling his hair.

"Yeah, I know. What could possibly be attacking Hogwarts from the inside?"

They settled into silence, Potter looking far off into the distance, while Draco stared at the map resting on Potter's lap, unconsciously checking if all of his common haunts were noted correctly.

"Potter?" Draco said suddenly, his eyes focused on a blank expanse on the seventh floor.

"What?"

"Where's the Room of Requirement?"

"Huh? Oh, we think it's Unplottable – it's never shown up on the Map." Potter looked down at the document as well, a confused wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. "I've never seen it do this before, though," he mumbled to himself, tracing the cursive outlines of the corridor, which seemed to flicker on the yellow page.

"You know, I wasn't able to enter the Room yesterday, either," Draco remembered aloud, meeting Potter's curious gaze.

"But what does the Room of Requirement have to do with Hogwarts' magic being used up?" Potter voiced Draco's thought. Another gust of wind ripped through the stands, ruffling their cloaks and the Map's pages.

They were on the right track, Draco knew it. Just, _something_ was missing. Draco stared off at the hoops at the other end of the pitch as they collected their thoughts, wondering randomly how so many years had gone by without him getting on a broom. _Well, willingly_, he thought suddenly, remembering fire and pain and Potter's back pressed to his chest.

He gasped. "Holy fuck! That's it!" Potter stared at him worriedly.

"What's it?"

"The Fiendfyre, Potter!" Understanding sparked in Potter's eyes, and the two men felt power and knowledge rush through them. "It's cursed fire, after all. It simply burns through anything in its path – Hogwarts must be spending all of that energy trying to contain the Fiendfyre, or supply things for it to burn so that it doesn't get released onto the rest of the castle!" Draco concluded excitedly, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Potter gaped at Draco, who could feel his enthusiasm warm his cheeks. "That actually makes sense." Something else seemed to click in Potter's brain. "And you said that Hogwarts is like a body, right? So, like a body's immune system, it must not be able to differentiate us tapping into its magical core from the Fiendfyre trying to damage it. It's like antibodies and stuff," Potter finished lamely. Draco nodded, recalling vague terms like 'nonspecific immune responses' and 'lymphocytes' from some old Muggle textbooks he'd read years ago.

They beamed at each other, all animosity forgotten in light of their new discovery. A soft _plop!_ sounded next to Draco's ear, and something cold dripped onto his skull. He looked up, a raindrop catching on his cheek as the first few droplets fell from the blanket of clouds.

He simply laughed, feeling askew.

He grinned at Potter, whose intense gaze made Draco's smile slowly fade. The rain began to pour, cold water tapping a hollow rhythm into Draco's skin, but he could barely feel it. Potter's hair was damp, his dark locks curling around his ears as he continued to stare at Draco, whose heart suddenly felt constricted.

Potter's palm was cold and wet as it cupped his jaw, and Draco's eyelids seemed to close involuntarily as those green eyes neared. And then there was only darkness, the smell of rain, and hard, warm lips pressed against his.

Draco took in a sharp breath through his nose, his fingernails scraping against the damp wood of the stands as he clenched his fist. Draco had been kissed by exactly three different people in his eighteen years of life: Pansy in fourth year, who had been enthusiastic and well-learned, with a habit of biting; a boy named Geoffrey, who had been finicky and shy, and whose lips had tasted like roses; and Theo, who felt like acceptance and safety when they snogged, who liked to whisper nonsense against his lips.

Potter was different.

Potter kissed with purpose, with a steely confidence that was juxtaposed by his soft, questioning touches, the way he seemed to ask for consent with each brush of his thumb against Draco's cheekbone. It was heady, to feel like the complete focus of someone's universe for just a moment.

Draco's eyes sprung open as Potter's tongue traced the seam of his lips inquisitorially, asking for permission. Potter's eyes were closed, his glasses having been removed at some point without Draco's notice. Draco could see the earnest curve of Potter's brow, the feeling held in the soft lines on the corners of Potter's eyes. Something wavered inside of him.

He surrendered, closing his eyes for security and preservation as he reached forward, curling his fingers into the front of Potter's clammy robes as he opened his lips, supressing an embarrassing noise as Potter licked into his mouth.

It was surreal, the heat in his fingers and face combating with the chill from the continuing downpour and the whispering wind around them. He sucked softly on Potter's tongue, enjoying the quiet sound the man made in response. He shuddered as Potter's hand on his cheek moved down his neck, smearing rainwater into the sensitive skin above his collarbone.

There was a gentle roll of thunder in the distance, the sound being sudden enough to cause Draco to pull back in surprise. "Fuck," he panted, staring down at his hands, which were clinging onto Potter's drenched robes desperately. The two men breathed, trying to keep the continuing mist out of their mouths.

"Draco, I –" Potter stopped himself, sounding choked. Draco pulled his hands away, abruptly standing with his unsteady legs. A line of water ran down Draco's spine, soaking him to the core. The cloudburst seemed to be gradually running out of energy as Draco collected himself, trying to anxiously deny the warring thoughts that were crashing in his mind.

"That didn't just happen," he finally whispered, turning his head just enough to see Potter out of his peripheral vision without having to meet those eyes. "That _never_ happened," he stressed forcibly, confused anger colouring his words.

"But, Draco –"

"It's Malfoy, Potter. We're not friends." Draco rigidly began walking to the stairs, but stopped for a moment as he glanced back at the drowned-looking man still sitting in that same spot, toying with the magically-dry pages of the Map. "And we're sure as hell not anything more than that," Draco said blankly, knowing Potter heard him by the way those shoulders seem to slump forwards a few more centimetres, the dark, depressing backdrop seemingly framing the moment to perfection.

It was a violent, severe walk back to his rooms, and Draco fingers shook around the handle, which, for once, didn't scream with horror at his touch. He pressed his back to the wood once he was safely inside, sliding to the floor in a rumpled, dripping mess. He absently wondered if Potter had gone to McGonagall to share their breakthrough in his theory – but the pain from thinking about Potter cut off his train of thought before it had truly begun.

He propped his elbows up on his bended knees, cradling his face in quivering palms.

_Merlin, what do I do now?_

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: So…look at that romance burn! Anyways…Let's just be real, here – my posting on Fridays just isn't gonna fly anymore, so let's say…Mondays, maybe? Hmm. Don't worry, the posting will still be about two weeks apart, not more, and there's only a handful of chapters left, anyways.**

**(But there will be a sequel! *leers*)**


	11. Lesson Eleven

o

Lesson Eleven

o

"Headmistress? You called for me?" Draco asked as he stepped through the door. McGonagall peered over her spectacles, setting down a bushel of papers.

"Ah, yes. Mister Malfoy, please take a seat," she waved her wand, calling forth a kettle from somewhere in the alcoves behind her. Draco sat in the leftmost chair, noting how there were more seats in the office than normal. "We are expecting a few more guests," McGonagall confirmed as she poured herself a cup of tea, wordlessly asking if Draco cared for one, which he declined.

The door creaked open, and Draco resisted the urge to turn around and see who it was. _Merlin, please don't let it be Potter_, he prayed, that kiss from mere hours ago still haunting him.

"Miss Granger, Miss Hobby and Mister Zabini, please join us." Draco's shoulders loosened with relief as he turned to weakly smile at Blaise, who raised a questioning eyebrow at him, no doubt wondering where Draco had disappeared to all day.

"Now we are merely waiting for Mister Potter," McGonagall said simply as she offered Granger and Blaise a drink. Draco's heart lurched uncomfortably.

"And we're here to talk about what, exactly?" Blaise asked smoothly, expressionless.

"You, Mister Zabini, and Miss Granger here are the only two wandless magic authorities I could get here on such short notice, and both of your researches have sparked a renaissance of magical theory and study throughout the world. Miss Hobby happens to be one of Britain's leading historians on famous magical establishments, with an emphasis on Hogwarts." McGonagall sighed, seeming drained. "We are all here because Hogwarts is falling apart, and we now know why. Mister Malfoy's thoughts and wandless abilities will most likely be vital in whatever plan we enact, as he seems to be able to connect with Hogwarts' core the fastest. I can only presume that Mister Potter will have similar success."

There was a sharp knocking on the door, and Draco resisted the urge to groan as the other three turned to watch Potter slouch into the room, mumbling some sort of apology to McGonagall, who simply nodded at the remaining seat in between Granger and Hobby. Draco's neck prickled uncomfortably, and he could feel Potter's gaze burning into him.

"So, now that everyone is present, we can begin. Mister Potter came to me a short time ago and shared that he and Mister Malfoy had realized that Fiendfyre is apparently still burning inside of the Room of Requirement, which, for those who might not know, is a mystical, secret room in Hogwarts that can cater to the whims of those inside it at any given moment. During the Battle of Hogwarts, Mister Potter explained, there was a skirmish in one of the Room's many faces, the Room of Hidden Things. The late Mister Crabbe cast the Fiendfyre, and Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, and Mister Goyle all managed to escape with their lives."

Draco swallowed, his fingernails pressing into his palm. He could still remember Crabbe's funeral, a pitifully small, almost secret affair, considering the uprising of protests at Death Eater burials. Crabbe's mother had sobbed quietly, standing alone, as her husband was already in Azkaban. Draco could recall the dank mist that had hovered over the graveyard, blurring the silhouettes of Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Greg, who looked lost without his closest friend. A stab of guilt struck Draco – when was the last time he'd even spoken to Greg?

"-ister Malfoy?" McGonagall repeated, an unimpressed eyebrow cocked over her spectacles.

"I'm sorry?" Draco blinked, refusing to flush when everyone stared at him. The headmistress' eyes seemed to spark with amusement for a moment.

"I was asking if you had any thoughts to add to the conversation before we begin discussing ways to quench the fire."

"Oh, no; I don't believe so."

"Very well then. Miss Granger, you have something to add?" McGonagall asked, watching Granger, who seemed confused on whether she should raise her hand in this environment or not.

"Yes. I've been studying some old texts about Fiendfyre since Harry told me a couple of hours ago, and I've found some ways that won't work at defeating the flames."

"How could not knowing how to kill it possibly help?" Blaise asked dryly.

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I find it's easier to find solutions to solve a problem if you first eliminate extraneous ideas." Blaise shrugged, gesturing a hand for her to continue. Granger cleared her throat, pulling out a scrap of paper from her robes. "Well, Fiendfyre is cursed fire, so merely using water will not work. Also, trying to build some sort of barrier to contain the flames won't work, considering the flames can burn through nearly anything. Now, I think that Hogwarts is using up that energy trying to continuously create new shields for the fire to burn through, so that it can't reach the real walls of the castle and spread."

"So we can't use water and we can't contain it indefinitely, or at least not without using up copious amounts of magic. What _can_ we do?" Blaise summarized.

Silence filled the room.

McGonagall sighed. "I see. Well, I want all of you to think of some ideas on how to stop this thing; let's meet back here after dinner and find a solution. Now, I'm sure all of you have groups you are supposed to be aiding around the castle." The five stood, Hobby heading out the door first, followed by Blaise and Draco, who purposefully ignored Potter's presence behind him.

The group stepped down the winding staircase from the office, walking into a cavernous corridor. Hobby turned left and was gone. "So, I think Pans and Theo are a part of the team finishing up the dungeons – want to head there?" Blaise asked Draco.

He was in the middle of shrugging in agreement when Granger cleared her throat behind them. "Actually, Zabini, I was wondering if I could share some thoughts with you regarding your wandless magic theories. I read your article in _The Sorcerer's Scribe_ and was intrigued by some of your points." Blaise blinked down at the serious woman. Draco glanced at Potter, who was watching Draco from Granger's right side. That emerald gaze made Draco's chest feel as though it was filled with sand.

"Sure thing, Granger. Let's walk," Blaise said, gesturing down the corridor before winking at Draco, Granger stealing a glance at the blonde before following Blaise with a smile on her lips. Their footsteps were loud in the echoing hallway as they stepped out of sight.

Tension settled against Draco's skin, pressing into his temples, his eardrums as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the shadows where Blaise and Granger had turned.

"Hi," Potter mumbled.

The greeting sliced into Draco's stoicism, but he kept his face as indifferent as possible. Grey, unhappy light seeped in through the windows across from them, and the air still held the heaviness of the rain that left clamminess on Draco's skin.

He took a deep breath, stealing himself. _You'll have to face Potter sometime_, his thoughts whispered. He turned, finally meeting Potter entirely. "Hello, Potter," he said icily. Potter's face was pale, hesitant uncertainty looking foreign on those features, ones Draco was so used to seeing covered with arrogance and self-confidence.

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but closed it without any words being released into the air. Draco couldn't help but watch those lips, their hard, warm press still murmuring against his mind.

"Dra-Malfoy, can we talk?" Potter asked quietly, doing that thing where he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. It was tempting, for a moment, to believe in the fantasy that he would agree and that Potter would confess his love, and that they'd kiss and everything would end in roses and smiles and bouts of incredible sex, like in those romance novels Pansy read during fifth year.

"Unless it's about fixing Hogwarts, Potter, we don't have anything to talk about," Draco said simply, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he supressed the part of himself that desperately wished he was a different person, the one who could fall into Potter's arms and weep for a requited love.

Potter's gaze hardened, and the expressionless mask that Draco recognized from months before reappeared. "Fine. Let's talk about Hogwarts, then. Care to discuss it while we walk to the Great Hall?" Draco was surprised by Potter's easy ability to compartmentalize, but was grateful for the change in conversation. If only Potter would let him leave and never have to face those piercing eyes again.

"Fine, Potter." The two men began down the hall, that tension still pressing into Draco's back. "So, any plans on how to be the saviour of the day once again?" He asked flippantly, watching Potter's cold expression out of the corner of his eye.

"I thought you were our resident expert on magical theory," Potter stated passively. "And we both know you have plenty of experience with the Room of Hidden Things." That stung, the angry tint to Potter's words causing Draco's shoulders to stiffen.

"I'm hardly an expert on cursed fire, Potter," Draco sneered, trying to remain civil.

Potter scoffed. "Your crony, Crabbe, sure was. I thought he must've gotten that knowledge from you," he sneered. The image of Crabbe's mother, crying softly at her son's funeral, snapped into Draco's mind, and something in him cracked.

He stopped, turning to shove Potter against the stone wall, shaking with anger. Potter glared at him, surprised into inaction. "Don't you _dare_ say a word about Crabbe," he snarled, his fingernails digging into Potter's shoulders. "I don't mention any of the people you lost in the war, so don't fucking talk about the ones I –," his voice broke embarrassingly, and he stared at his feet as blood pounded beneath his skin.

The two men breathed heavily.

"I'm sorry," Potter finally whispered, causing Draco to look up from the floor. "You're right – that was outta line." Potter's hands reached out, those rough fingers pressing themselves into Draco's hips as soft lines around Potter's eyes creased with sincerity.

And then it was like a spell – the sudden, magnetizing need Draco felt pull him into the muscled, angular heat of Potter's chest. He closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to Potter's in an aching, desperate kiss, feeling dizzy when Potter immediately responded, sliding his grip to Draco's arse, pulling Draco's hardening erection against his thigh.

Draco bit off the whine that threatened to escape, clawing at Potter's shoulders and neck as he rode his thigh, painfully arousing friction sending heat all through his body. Potter suddenly pushed Draco backwards, turning them so that Draco's back hit the cold wall before Potter's thigh was once again grinding against Draco's confined cock, causing Draco to groan brokenly into the soft skin of Potter's neck.

Potter pressed small, chaste kisses onto Draco's hairline, the cool _clink!_ of those glasses against Draco's skin keeping him grounded against the onslaught of pleasure. "Potter," he groaned, his head falling against the stone wall as Potter sucked love bites onto his jugular.

"What?" He asked between soft kisses to Draco's jaw.

"Stop that, or I'm go-_oh!-_ing to –" But then one of Potter's hands was trailing down his front, cupping the straining bulge on the front of Draco's trousers.

"Going to… what?" Potter leaned his forehead against Draco's, a dark glint in his eyes as he grinned crookedly in the way that Draco couldn't help but find incredibly attractive. He pressed the words against Draco's lips, tasting of smiles and confidence and teasing.

"I'm going to come, you wanker," Draco panted, trying to be irritated, but failing unequivocally as he tightened his hold around Potter's shoulders, crying out as Potter twisted his grip just right, sending Draco over the edge.

The white static finally began to fade from the edges of his view as he quivered from aftershocks, feeling the dampness in his pants already beginning to stick and dry to his skin. Potter was watching him, high, bright spots of colour on his cheeks as he rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles on the skin exposed by Draco's rucked-up shirt.

Draco could feel Potter's erection against his hip, and was feeling fuzzy and warm from his own orgasm as he reached up to tug at Potter's ridiculously-messy hair, pulling him in for a lazy, wet kiss as he skimmed his fingers across the top of Potter's jeans.

"Merlin's bollocks," a voice cursed to Draco's left.

His eyes sprung open as he shoved Potter away from him, and his gaze fell upon a shocked Theo, who stared at the pair with wide brown eyes, his mouth agape.

Those brown eyes flicked to Draco's and Harry's rumpled clothes, the bruises kissed onto Draco's pale skin, Potter's obvious erection, and the damp spot on Draco's crotch that the blonde spelled away wandlessly.

"Theo, we were just –" Draco futilely wracked his mind for some sort of excuse, for once drawing a complete blank. Theo snapped his mouth shut, an amused expression coming over his face.

"No need to explain to me, Draco." He grinned mercilessly. "However, I suggest finding a more private place to shag – pretty sure I just saw Davies walking around here a moment ago. Well, good luck, you two," he beamed as he turned back the way he came, waving lazily over his shoulder before stepping out of sight.

Draco could feel his entire face bloom into a burning, crimson blush. Potter shuffled his feet awkwardly, drawing Draco's attention to him. "Did that 'never happen' either?" The Gryffindor asked quietly, sullenness glinting in his eye.

That dark, desperate thing that clawed at the inside of Draco's chest whined in agony, begging for Draco to do something, anything that could bring that attractive grin back to Potter's expression.

Merlin, he was just so _tired _of it all.

He sighed, crumbling in on himself. "What do you want me to say, Potter?" He tried to keep the helplessness from his tone, but could still hear it in his broken words. Potter's mouth tightened unhappily, and he bent his head.

"I don't know, Malfoy." He looked up, those lips twisted into a rueful grin. "This is fucked up."

Draco stared at him.

And then he laughed a horrible, breathless laugh that reminded him of his father.

"Of course it's fucked up, Potter. It's us. The mere idea of the two us being _intimate_ is fucking ridiculous." Draco returned Potter's fading grin, knowing his flash of teeth looked more like a grimace. "So let's finally be clear about this – no shagging, or kissing, or friendly conversation, even. We're enemies-turned-peers, Potter."

Potter's expression was stony. "Then why did you kiss me just now?"

Draco felt as though the air had suddenly been sucked out of his lungs.

"Why did _you_ kiss me this morning?" The words burned his tongue, making his entire being feel tight with the need with which he wanted Potter's answer.

His pulse rocketed as Potter opened his mouth, finally – _**BOOM!**_

The two men jumped at the rumbling, louder than any thunder they'd ever heard. "What the fuck was that?" Potter asked, only to be interrupted by another equally loud ripping noise. Silver eyes met emerald in confused nervousness.

McGonagall's voice suddenly reverberated through the hallway, magically projected around the school. "_All report to the seventh floor immediately!_"

Draco and Potter shared one last look before they were running down the corridor.

o

There was a budding crowd forming around the Room of Requirement when they finally made their way up to the seventh floor. The sea of witches and wizards seemed to part before Potter, who made his way to McGonagall's side. Draco stayed on the fringe of the group, watching the scene with Blaise and Pansy at his side.

Draco couldn't pick up what Potter and the headmistress were discussing, but the anxious wrinkle that formed between Potter's brows was not a good sign. McGonagall nodded shortly at something that Granger said to her, then pointed her wand at the aging, transparent skin on her throat.

"Thank you all for your speed – we have a crisis here. For those who haven't heard – there is Fiendfyre trapped in the Room of Requirement, and it is siphoning Hogwarts' magic. Apparently, the castle has started to run out of energy.

"I ask all of you to look at the walls around you, and observe any abnormalities." Draco, along with the rest of the group, frowned and turned his head, staring at the familiar expanses of the walls around them. The stone seemed normal; the torches were shining regularly; the portraits –

"Why are all of the portraits empty?" Draco asked in the suddenly quiet hallway. McGonagall nodded sombrely.

"Exactly, Mister Malfoy. Hogwarts has apparently started to siphon magic from any objects in the immediate vicinity of the Room. In this case, the portraits' innate supply of magic that is infused in their paintings has been absorbed in Hogwarts' desperation to keep the Fiendfyre from breaking out into the rest of the castle." Confused, worried mumblings buzzed through the air like a swarm of insects.

"What can we do, Headmistress?" A voice asked loudly. McGonagall frowned, looking incredibly weary.

"That is the question. Fiendfyre is cursed fire, and has very few weaknesses, if any. I am open to all suggestions and ideas, considering Hogwarts will continue to consume its own magic the longer we wait. Any solutions can be brought to me, Mister Potter, or Miss Granger at any time. Until then, we can only continue our repairs in the hope that Hogwarts doesn't burn from the inside out in the next few days." McGonagall raised her wand again, quieting her voice.

"Fucking hell," Blaise breathed, honest worry on his handsome features. Pansy nodded, biting her thumbnail in a habit from her younger years.

Draco stood silently, feeling Hogwarts' distress shoot through his core.

o

Dinner was a subdued affair, with murmured conversations that held the heaviness of apprehension and failure.

"Do you have any thoughts about what to do?" Theo asked quietly, picking at the stew. Draco sighed, shaking his head as he took a bite of tasteless bread. He was grateful that his drama with Potter was side-lined by Hogwarts' crisis – another scandal was the last thing Draco or Potter needed at this moment.

"No. Even if we did have a spell, there's no way to access the flames. The entranceway to the Room is sealed off, probably by the castle itself."

"Well, let's say that there was a way to get to the fire – what spell would we even use?" Pansy asked primly, her eyes on the head of the table, where Potter, Weasley, and Granger sat in a concentrated huddle.

"We know water doesn't work," Theo began.

"And we can't use _finite incantatem_," Blaise continued.

Oliver cleared his throat as he and Marcus joined the group of younger Slytherins. "I think you are looking at this all wrong – Fiendfyre is still fire, after all. And there are some things that fire has to have, otherwise it'll burn out."

"Care to elaborate, Wood?"

"Well, it has to have fuel, which we think Hogwarts is accidently supplying by creating more shields; space is also a requirement, but only because fire has to have oxygen."

Draco choked on his bit of apple. "Gods, Wood, that might be it." The other five stared at him, at the brightness that burned in his eyes. _We don't have to destroy the Fiendfyre itself, just shrink the Room until it runs out of air_, Draco thought gleefully, opening his mouth to share his thought –

_CRASH!_

The Hall's inhabitants collectively jumped, all dreading whatever Hogwarts had done now. But the sound didn't stop, instead the chattering of dozens of voices filled the Entrance Hall, the sounds bleeding through the Great Hall's grand entryway. Theo and Draco shared an apprehensive look.

The huge doors burst open, revealing a pack of excited men and women, all with cameras hanging around their necks, quills clutched in their hands. Rita Skeeter beamed oily from the front of the crowd.

"Harry, we finally found you," she said delightedly.

Draco whipped his head around to stare at Potter, who seemed to be having the same thought Draco was.

_Oh, shit._

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Well, look at this. I say that I'm officially changing the day I'm going to post, and then I post early. Whatever. Well, I don't think I have anything else to say besides how much I appreciate all of you guys who review and follow and favourite – it really means a lot! Thank you, and see you in two weeks!**


	12. Lesson Twelve

ooOoo

Lesson Twelve

ooOoo

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" Potter growled, his voice carrying over the silent hall. Rita Skeeter pouted falsely.

"Didn't you miss me, Harry? We've all been so worried about your whereabouts," she simpered, her Quick-Quotes Quill scratching eagerly onto her notepad. One of the other reporters raised their camera, taking a picture with a blinding burst of light. And as though the first domino had been toppled, the group of journalists were in a frenzy, taking pictures and asking loud questions.

Draco and Theo shared another glance before turning back the chaos unfolding in front of them and the thunderous look on Potter's face. Draco watched with a sense of foreboding as Potter pulled his rarely-used wand out of his pocket, flicking it in the direction of the press.

There was a soft buzzing, and then everything was silent. Rita Skeeter was frozen, her mouth pulled into a leering smile, the other witches and wizards stuck in a similarly immobile state around her.

Draco raised his eyebrows, knowing that casting a spell over a group simultaneously required a lot of power. _I guess that's why he used his wand_, he thought absently as he stared at the Boy Wonder, who was glaring at the life-like statues across the hall.

"Mister Potter?" That calm, powerful voice echoed through the hall as Headmistress McGonagall stepped around the reporters, her eyebrows raised questioningly as she gazed at Potter, who look mildly sheepish. "Would you care to explain what is happening here?"

"Uh…"

"Skeeter barged in here, Headmistress. Potter was just trying to make 'em shut up for a moment," Flint said unexpectedly, drawing everyone's attention to his neutral expression. Wood nodded at his right.

"Exactly, Headmistress," Granger added, Weasley agreeing fervently.

McGonagall's expression remained unimpressed, but Draco could swear he saw her eyes twinkle with amusement. "I see." She turned her stare onto the unmoving Skeeter. "I see no harm in letting our guests remain stationary for a few hours as we deal with our new crisis." She pulled out her wand, levitating the frozen group and moving them to one of the empty corners of the Great Hall.

"Well, let's return to dinner, shall we?" McGonagall suggested with a mild smile, and soft snickers could be heard amongst the quiet chatter that bloomed in the room.

"Well, that was interesting," Pansy said she returned to her meal, daintily taking a bite of her bread. Blaise shrugged as he too turned away from the excitement.

Draco's eyes watched Potter, who was stowing his wand away in his trousers, those green eyes focused on Granger, who was gesturing to some tome sitting in front of her. His stomach jolted when he remembered the meeting McGonagall had called for after dinner, to discuss ways to stop the Fiendfyre.

His mind raced with the idea that had filled his mind before Skeeter had barged in. _Shrinking the Room. That shouldn't be too difficult, right?_ Draco frowned. The Room of Requirement was an extremely complex piece of magic, though - one with the rare quality of being oddly sentient_. It's also especially intricate now that it's connected to Hogwarts' magical core_, Draco thought worriedly.

He stood, needing some quiet in order to focus. "I'm not that hungry anymore," he mumbled to Theo, who nodded. Draco's could feel his friend's concerned gaze on his back as he stepped through the entrance, relishing in the cool breeze that wafted in through the front doors, still open from Skeeter's dramatic entrance.

The quiet darkness called to him, and he slipped through the entryway.

The night air held the chill from the recent rain, and soft, watery moonlight spotted the dark grounds as he walked with no clear direction in mind. The empty husk of Hagrid's hut was a dark smudge against the purple and blue haziness of the grounds. Draco couldn't help but remember the night it had first burned, how he'd stumbled through the battle, following the dark outline of Severus' figure through the death and fear. And how life had only gotten worse from there.

That'd been the night he'd realized he was on the wrong side of the war, how stupid and unprepared he had been to take on his parents' battle.

That'd been the night he'd truly stopped hating Harry Potter.

"Malfoy?" Draco blinked, recognizing his surroundings at the edge of the lake. Roger Davies stared up at him from his seat on the shore, his wand tip lit as he read some book. _Ravenclaws, honestly._

"Davies? What are you doing?" Davies shrugged, marking his page before shutting the volume. The older man's eyes shone in the artificial light from his wand.

"Doing some research on Fiendfyre, of course. What's the reason for your stroll of the grounds?"

Draco's mouth quirked sharply. "I was thinking about the Fiendfyre as well."

"Care to share your thoughts?" Davies gestured the empty, grassy ground next to him. Draco hesitated for a moment before nodding to himself, gracefully folding his legs underneath him. _I'll have to share my ideas at some point, if I don't want the castle to collapse_. The lake glimmered with agreement in the moonlight.

"Well, I was thinking - Fiendfyre is still fire, is it not?" Davies raised an eyebrow at the rhetorical question. "So, whether cursed or not, fire still needs air in order to burn. So we would just need to shrink the Room of Requirement gradually until-"

"-the Fiendfyre runs out of air," Davies finished excitedly. "Not a bad thought, Malfoy." The Ravenclaw broke off, humming absently to himself as his finger tapped against the tome in his lap. "But how could you shrink it? The Room of Requirement is impervious to magic except internally."

Draco frowned. "That was exactly my thought process. It's almost as though someone would have to enter the Room - and the Fiendfyre - to bend the magic to their wishes."

Crickets chirped loudly around them, and owls _hoot_-ed darkly from the forest.

"That might be the only solution, Malfoy," Davies finally said. Draco stared at him with incredulity.

"Davies, someone will _die_ if they go in there. If not from the flames, from the Room suffocating them to death. No one would sacrifice themselves for this…I'm not even sure if the Room would _let_ someone kill themselves."

"…You're right. The Room wouldn't let the average witch or wizard do it. But you and Potter aren't normal wizards, are you?"

A black sense of forewarning filled Draco at Davies' tone. "What do you mean?"

"Funny thing, magical objects," Davies said simply as he looked out over the water. "Did you that wands are built with a safety, kind-of like a Muggle gun? That's why magical folk can't kill themselves with their own wands – it simply won't work." Draco swallowed, his throat feeling rough. "The Room, from what I read, is similar. It won't comply with the user's wishes if it causes them mortal peril." Davies suddenly stared into Draco's eyes. "But you and Potter have completely bypassed that safety with your wandless abilities. You could easily kill yourself with your raw magic if you wished – and you can push the Room to do your bidding if you connect your core with it." Davies smiled eerily. "Funny, isn't it?"

Draco's heart skipped a beat, a horrible realization ringing through his mind. "So only Potter or I could stop this thing? And we'd have to die while doing it?"

Davies shrugged, standing on long legs as he extinguished the light. "These are just my hypotheses, Malfoy. Who knows? Maybe Granger will think of some genius way to fix the problem without Hogwarts or anyone getting hurt."

_BOOM!_

Davies and Draco jerked their gazes to stare at the castle, where the lights in the North Tower suddenly went out.

"But I doubt it," Davies mumbled. "This thing needs to be stopped, and fast. 'Night, Draco."

And Draco was alone with his dangerous thoughts.

o

Draco lay on the couch in his rooms, staring at the shadowy vaulted ceilings his lone candle couldn't possibly light. _My life…or Potter's._

The fingers of his right hand dug into the Marked skin of his left forearm, causing tiny pricks of pain. _Objectively, I know my worth. I'm a failed Death Eater, a piece of scum that didn't even have the guts to kill someone to save my family. And Potter…_

He sighed, not noticing when a small trickle of blood slithered down his white skin onto the navy fabric of his shirt.

_Knock, knock. _

Draco propped himself up on his elbows, glaring at the door to his room with confusion. He could hear his doorknob screaming with its metallic voice, and he rolled his eyes. _Figures I'd have one of the weakest security measures in the castle on _my_ door_, he thought as he stood, frowning at the crescent-shaped cuts overlapping the dark ink on his arm.

He took a deep breath, staring at the smooth wood of the door. _Merlin, just make whoever this is Vanish – I can't deal with anyone right now._ But he reached out and pulled the knob.

"Potter?" He breathed in surprise, silencing the doorknob with an unconscious flick of his wrist.

The dark-haired eighteen-year-old looked at him over the rim of his glasses, something curiously hesitant in the way he held himself in the doorway.

_Fuck, not _you, Draco groaned internally. _I can't choose between our lives tonight, Potter._

"…Can I come in?" Potter finally asked as the silence stretched between them.

His heart in his throat, Draco nodded, turning away as Potter followed him into his quarters. Draco took an unsteady seat on his couch, watching Potter's feet as he conjured a chair and sat opposite.

"You weren't at McGonagall's meeting."

_Yeah, I was too busy figuring out how to save this bloody school, and maybe kill myself or _you_ in the process._

Draco swallowed, staring at his clenched fists, which wrinkled his black trousers. "Did anyone think of a solution?" A spark of hope flared in his chest.

"…No," Potter admitted quietly. "We're having to evacuate the upper floors – the magic absorption is becoming more widespread." Draco's heart sunk like lead.

"I see," he finally looked up, resisting the urge to wince at the sorrow in Potter's eyes.

Those eyes, filled with the pain of watching his childhood home destroyed.

_I can't send this man to his death_, he realized surreally.

Something in him settled.

"Potter, do you know of a way into the Room of Requirement?" Potter's brow creased in confusion.

"Why would you –"

"Theoretically."

Potter still looked suspicious, but he blinked in thought. "Well, the Vanishing Cabinets are obviously out of the question, since I can only assume it's been burnt to a crisp in the fire…" Potter's face suddenly cleared. "During the final battle, we got into Hogwarts through the passage Neville had created into the Hog's Head. It might still work."

_The Hog's Head, that grungy pub in Hogsmeade? Well, if it'll work, it doesn't matter where the entrance is._

Draco nodded, ignoring the questioning tilt of Potter's head.

"Alright." Draco stood, and Potter unconsciously did the same. "Is that it, Potter?" He asked tiredly, ready to begin the preparations to stop the Fiendfyre…and, thusly, end his life.

Something obscure and tentative flickered across those handsome features. "Not exactly. I, uh…" Potter trailed off, reaching into his pocket before displaying the object clutched therein.

Draco stared at the outstretched palm, his eyes drawn to the dark stick of wood lying on that hand.

"…My wand?" Draco tentatively reached out and delicately touched the relic of his past, barely believing it was still real. He picked it up, holding it as tenderly as a new-born baby. "You had it all this time?" Draco asked softly as he looked up at Potter, fresh, murky feelings welling up in his chest.

Potter grimaced. "Yeah…I figured I should give it back to you now, since I'm sure whatever solution we think up, it'll involve some pretty intense magic. I found that using my wand can help with bigger spells, makes it easier to channel and stuff." He huffed awkwardly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck in an unconscious manner. "And, well, I guess I should've given this to you a long time ago…So," he trailed off lamely.

Everything was quiet.

Potter glanced up from his shoes when Draco didn't say anything for a long while.

Draco took a long look into those eyes.

And then he punched Potter in the nose, his fist colliding with a satisfying _CRUNCH!_

"Fuck you, Potter!" Draco yelped as he cradled his bruised knuckles. Potter panted in surprise and pain, holding a hand to his face, where blood poured from his broken nose.

"Madfoy! 'ou broke 'y nozde!"

"Yes, I did! For the second time now, and you deserved it both times!" Draco felt adrenaline still running through his body, and though he still felt justified in injuring Potter, he didn't stop the man as he raised a hand to spell his nose un-broken.

"What the fuck, Malfoy? How did I deserve that?" Potter yelled as he smeared the last bit of blood onto the back of his hand, the white scars on the back of the appendage becoming artistically covered in the coppery red.

Draco could feel his mouth twist into an ugly sneer. "This entire debacle started _months_ ago, with you making my life _fucking miserable_, and then when I finally started thinking that maybe things would be alright, you fucking _disappeared_, leaving me to deal with all of the shit that you were apparently too cowardly to help me fix!" Draco shouted, feeling blood trickle down his left arm, where his cuts had reopened. "And then you just fucking _show up_ without an explanation – and now you have the fucking gall to give me back my wand – _the thing that could've stopped this entire fucking mess from the beginning?_"

"Having your wand would not have solved everything!" Potter yelled back, very red in the face. "And stop making it sound like everything is _my_ fault! You were a fucking prat at the beginning as well - and stop shrieking about my leaving – you don't know what was happening! _Just shut the fuck up about things you don't understand!_"

Draco turned his back to Potter, quietly gasping with anger, embarrassment and something like disappointment. His blood-slicked left hand clenched his newly-possessed wand tightly, his right hand digging fingernails into his palm.

_I'm going to fucking _die_ for you, you fucking bastard, yet you dare –_

All he could think of was making Potter feel as awful as he was feeling at that moment, so he raised the wand, turning to point it at Potter's scowling, blood-spattered face –

Potter shot out his hand, gripping Draco's thin wrist in a deathly tight grip, forcing the wand to fall to the floor. "Don't think so, Draco," the dark man growled. Draco tried blindly punching with his other arm, but Potter merely grabbed that wrist too, forcefully backing Draco against the couch, pressing him against the cushions with painful strength. "Calm the fuck down!" But Draco wouldn't be soothed, struggling against the harsh holdings of his arms next to his head. "Draco!" Potter yelled.

"_Don't call me that!_" Draco shouted back, feeling the heat in his face.

"Oh, and why not? Too _intimate_ for you?" Potter hissed, real spite crossing his dangerous features. Draco sneered at him, feeling raw and exposed as the adrenaline slowly began to drain away.

"Get the fuck off me, Potter!" There was a desperate edge to his voice that Draco seemed to hear from a long ways away, his eyes locked in an intense gaze with Potter, those green irises burning into him.

"Or _what_, Draco?" Potter snarled, his rage seeming to increase as Draco's continued to fade. Flighty energy fluttered in Draco's throat, and he realized he was close enough to Potter to count the individual particles of dust trapped on his lenses. A strange rushing noise filled his ears.

_I'm going to die for _you_._

And then his lips were on Potter's bloody ones.

Potter froze for a moment, and his grip around Draco's wrists tightened painfully – and then he was kissing back.

Draco involuntarily closed his eyes as soft, damp heat pressed against his mouth, a shiver running up his spine when Potter roughly ran his tongue against the seam of Draco's lips. The Slytherin cautiously opened his mouth to the intrusion, wanting so badly to eagerly press into Potter's body, to give into the trance of pleasure that was screaming through his every nerve.

Draco groaned softly into Potter's mouth as the other man's hand moved up the front of his shirt, the cool fingertips searing sensation onto Draco's flushed skin. The two broke contact for the shortest moment, Potter pulling the obstructive clothing over Draco's head, tossing it onto the floor before roughly capturing Draco's lips again. The paler boy fumbled with the buttons on Potter's chest, his mind growing hazy as Potter sucked coyly on his tongue, Potter's hands teasing the waistband of his trousers.

"Fuck," Draco gasped as he tore his mouth from Potter's, turning his attention to the irritatingly intact buttons between his fingers. He could feel Potter's chest rumbling with an airy chuckle, the relaxed heat of Potter's lips pressing gently to his temple. Draco's heart skipped a beat at the unnaturally tender kiss, his hands stopping their trek down Potter's shirtfront.

A hundred warning bells were ringing in Draco's ears, shouting that all of this was too monumental, too huge to be an angry fuck between confused enemies. Draco raised his eyes, those metallic irises searching Potter's jade ones for something, anything that could justify what he was about to do. But Potter merely looked back at him before clasping Draco by the back of the neck, locking the two into a heated kiss once again.

And Draco simply stopped caring.

"_Accio lube!_" Draco groaned, extending his hand to catch the small container that came soaring through the doors of Draco's bedroom.

"Being a bit presumptuous, eh, Malfoy?" Potter scoffed as he mouthed against Draco jaw, tasting Draco's rapid pulse.

"Please, Potter. As though – _oh!_ – we were going to stop before this," Draco muttered sarcastically, his voice losing momentum when Potter bit at the thin skin of his collarbone, those rough fingers rubbing across Draco's pert nipples.

Potter chuckled, pulling back to shrug his shirt off his tanned, broad shoulders. "You're probably right," he agreed before wrapping his hands around Draco's waist, leaning his mouth towards Draco, who met the kiss whole-heartedly, reaching up to thread his fingers into those messy locks, the jar of lubricant falling to the floor with a dull _thump!_

The air seemed too thick to breathe when Potter kissed Draco's sternum, then the soft skin above his belly button. "Fuck," Draco exhaled as he tossed his head back, his eyes staring at the ceiling as he felt Potter unbutton his trousers, Draco lifting his hips to help Potter pull the black fabric out of the way.

"Draco," Potter called, forcing the Slytherin under him to raise his head and meet those burning eyes, unbarred by his glasses now. Potter's coarse fingertips brushed the pale skin on his hipbones, branding their touch in Draco's skin. When Potter, who never broke his iron gaze with Draco, began pushing down the waistband of Draco's pants, the blonde suddenly, surreally realized _Harry fucking Potter _was about to suck his cock.

It was terrifying.

But then Potter was running the sandpaper-velvety heat of his tongue against his prick and none of it mattered anymore.

Draco felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs as he watched Potter's wet tongue trail up his reddened skin, feeling the mesmerising ripples of pleasure up his spine. Potter might not have been the most skilled person to have ever given him a blow-job, but he sure as hell was the most enthusiastic and determined to make Draco fall apart.

"Potter – _ah!_" Draco lifted his head from where it'd fallen against the settee's arm, reaching down to rest his palms on Potter's temples, futilely trying to simultaneously pull Potter away from his cock and desperately keep that wet heat around him a moment longer. That wild, reckless warmth was pooling in his abdomen, threating to drag him into oblivion. But Potter didn't stop, those green eyes smirking at him as that mouth wrapped around him.

"Oh fuck…" Draco closed his eyes in pained ecstasy, pulling at Potter's hair as that tongue pressed against the sensitive underside of his cock, pushing him just a bit closer to the edge. _Just a little more_ – Draco opened his eyes when that wet heat was suddenly gone, the cool air of the common room chilling his skin. "Potter?"

But his squawk of indignation was cut short as Potter pressed his mouth against his, slipping his tongue inside. They both groaned, sharing the salty, bitter taste of Draco's leaking cock, the denied member now rubbing against the obvious bulge on the abrasive fabric of Potter's jeans.

"Potter, why did you stop?" Draco gasped against the other man's lips, his pale hands feeling the shift in the muscles of Potter's back as the Gryffindor slowly ground his hips against Draco.

Potter braced his elbows on either side of Draco's head, boxing him in as those green eyes watched him, glazed with arousal. "I really want to fuck you," Potter whispered like a prayer, like a sin.

Draco's heart skipped a beat.

_If this is goodbye…_

He pushed away the thought, the pain, the fear, and just focused on Potter. _Potter_.

He braced his feet on the soft pillows, letting his knees knock against Potter's hips. "Have you ever fucked a bloke before?" He asked calmly, if a bit breathlessly, as though Potter's cloth-covered erection wasn't rubbing temptingly against his own. Colour blossomed high on Potter's cheeks, and he broke his gaze with Draco.

"No. I don't have a whole lot of experience in this…area," he heard him mutter. Draco couldn't stifle the shock of heat that ran through his spine at the thought of being Potter's first.

"Have you fucked a girl?" Potter met his eyes, nodding.

"Twice. It didn't really work out."

"Well, I guess I'll have to teach you how, then."

Potter flashed that crooked smirk of his, causing Draco to lean up and taste it, wrapping his legs around Potter's waist and pulling Potter's erection more fully against his own. The two men groaned into each other's mouth, drunk on the feeling.

"So…can I?" Potter panted, mouthing at Draco's pulse. It jumped underneath his lips.

Draco couldn't stop the memories: Theo's fumbling fingers, the confused, budding knowledge of two fifteen-year-olds, and the stabbing pain of that first entry – then his own attempt at topping with Geoffrey, mere weeks before his horrible sixth year had begun, and how Draco had felt such guilt when the other boy bled afterwards. He suppressed a shudder.

But this was Potter. And everything was different with Potter.

_And if this is your last time…_He silenced that thought violently.

"Alright. But you better be fucking careful, Po – Harry," Draco mumbled, holding Potter's head to his collarbone so that he wouldn't have to see his expression at the use of Potter's given name, the word feeling so foreign on his tongue.

Potter's cock twitched in the confines of his jeans, making another spurt of pre-come dampen the heated skin of Draco's abdomen. Draco finally met _Harry's_ eyes, feeling too open in their captivated look.

"Dra–" Draco cut him off before he could say anything stupid, instead pressing his hands against Harry's shoulders and pushing him onto his back, so that Draco straddled his lap with an ironic smirk.

"But I'm on top," he proclaimed quietly, holding his hand out and _accio_-ing his small, silver jar of lube from underneath the couch. Harry merely blinked at him, his aroused flush spreading to his muscled chest as he grasped at Draco's bony hips.

"I – I have no problem with that," Harry's voice broke. Draco's unforgiving smile grew, and he flicked his wrist, Vanishing the few remain articles of clothing. "Oi!" Harry hissed at the sudden contact between his hardened prick and Draco's arse. Harry let his head fall back onto the arm of the settee, exposing the long line of his throat. "I hope you can get those back – that was my favourite pair of jeans."

Draco chuckled tightly, leaning over to bite at Harry's neck as he uncapped the dish, spreading the slick substance on two of his fingers before drawing them back to his exposed hole. Harry sat up a little at the sharp breath Draco drew as he pressed his middle finger in. "W-What are you doing?" Harry asked breathlessly, watching over Draco's shoulder.

"Wha-_ah!_-t does it look like I'm doing?" Draco answered, failing to keep the sarcastic edge to his tone as he pressed another finger in alongside the first.

"Are you _fingering_ yourself?" Harry whispered in awe, answering his own question as his burning palms trailed across Draco's sweaty back, spreading Draco's arse as curious fingertips brushed against the reddened rim of his hole. Draco gasped as Harry gripped his hand, pulling out Draco's fingers before pressing his own into the tight ring of muscle. The dry digits burned at first, but Draco had smeared enough lube against his arse that he could soon only feel the rough pleasure as Harry stretched him.

"Oh, fuck," he mumbled against Harry's neck as Harry sat up completely, causing Draco to shift even further down on Harry's fingers and lap.

"Y'alright?" Harry asked quietly, his soft tone contradicted by the harsh rhythm he was pressing into Draco.

"Yes – _ah!_ Right there!" Draco yelped as Harry brushed against that little bundle of nerves he only ever managed to find every now and then.

"Here?"

"Fuck! Yes!" Draco leaned away from Harry's chest, pushing the Saviour once again onto his back. He grinned as the leaking head of Harry's cock rubbed against his arse, and he pulled Harry's hand away from his hole.

He grabbed the jar, which had fallen onto the cushions at some point. He spread more onto his fingers, reaching down to provokingly pump Harry's painfully-hard erection. Harry hissed, the sound delightful to Draco's ears.

"Now sit still," Draco mumbled as he lifted himself up onto his knees, reaching back to grab at Harry's cock.

"Wait!" Draco paused, looking at Harry with a questioning eyebrow raised. "W-what about condoms?"

"'Condoms?'" Draco blinked at him, before it struck him. "Oh, those counterdeceptive things Muggles use." He grinned down at Harry, at the wild look in those emerald eyes. _Fuck, you're beautiful_. "Wizards don't get Muggle diseases, Potter."

And any words Harry might have had in response fled his mind as Draco sunk down on his cock. Draco groaned and Harry made an embarrassingly high squeak as more and more of Harry's considerable length slipped into Draco's constricted, hot passage.

"Holy fuck," Harry croaked, bruising Draco's hips with his grip. The blonde merely sighed in response, feeling light-headed as his arse sat flush against the toned skin of Harry's abdomen and thighs.

Draco's legs quivered from effort as he lifted himself up, and he hummed softly as Harry's cock filled him once again. "Y-you okay, Draco?" He heard Harry ask, his voice raw as Draco ground his hips, trying to hit his prostate again.

Draco opened his eyes, wondering when he'd closed them, and he leaned over Harry, mimicking their earlier position, only that Draco was boxing Harry in this time. He grinned softly, knowing he probably looked disgustingly fond. "I'm fucking brilliant," he whispered, breathily snickering against Harry's jaw as a jolt of pleasure made his head swim. "And how are you?" He asked politely, as though they were chatting about the Quidditch over a cuppa.

Harry suddenly reached up, grabbing a handful of Draco's hair and tugging him backwards, so that Draco could stare into the animalistic glint in Harry's eye. "I couldn't be better," Harry smiled madly as he thrust up into Draco, causing the Slytherin to arch his back in surprise. Harry grasped Draco's arse in both hands, his thumbs almost brushing against Draco's stretched rim as he fucked into the blonde.

Draco's hands curled into fists, his bloody fingernails digging against the fabric of the cushions. He caught Harry's mouth in a searing kiss, a dirty fight between their teeth and tongues as Harry continued his brutal rhythm.

That tight feeling began to pull at Draco's attention, and he ran the hand he wasn't using for support down Harry's chest until he reached his own neglected cock, which wept clear, sticky drops of pre-come against his navel. He thumbed the slit, panting into Harry's mouth as he hit his prostate on a particularly harsh thrust.

"Fuck, _Potter_," he whined as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"What?" The other man groaned, flicking his tongue against Draco's chin, nibbling on it lightly.

"I'm –" Draco didn't finish the warning, twisted his palm just the right way for that knot of squirmy heat to expand, his climax bursting through him as he cried out, come striping across his hand and onto Harry's stomach.

"Oh, God," Draco heard Harry curse as he collapsed against the Gryffindor's flushed, sweaty chest, his head feeling fuzzy with aftershocks as Harry thrust into him one, two, three more times before biting down onto Draco's neck with a groan.

Harry's body shook as he came, and Draco could feel that warmth fill him up. He pressed light kisses to Harry's shoulder, neck, any skin in reach as Harry shivered beneath him.

_I love you._

_ Goodbye._

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: So…This was way longer than a usual chapter – and nearly all of it was sex! 'bout time, amirite? Anyways, I'm thinking there'll maybe be two or three more chapters, and then we'll be all done! **


	13. Lesson Thirteen

ooOoo

Lesson Thirteen

ooOoo

It was dark. And quiet.

The candle had burned out hours ago, yet the two men lying on the couch hadn't spoken, had barely moved as the night deepened around them.

Draco's eyes burned with exhaustion, but he simply couldn't fall asleep. He breathed softly against Potter's chest, feeling Potter's steady heartbeat through his fingertips, which unconsciously traced minute circles against that warm skin.

Potter's puffs of breath ruffled the hair on the crown of his head, and Draco assumed the man underneath him had drifted off. _There won't be a better time to leave_, his mind whispered.

Draco sighed, shifting his stiff muscles as he unwillingly sat up, staring down at the shadowy outline of Potter's body through the darkness. He slowly and awkwardly threw his legs across Potter's, managing to stumble onto unsteady knees. He grimaced at the dried come on his stomach and legs he could feel cling and chaff against his skin. He flicked a wrist, cleaning himself roughly.

_Merlin, what a mess._

Something warm suddenly clamped around his wrist.

He jumped in the dark, turning his head to stare at Potter, whose fingers were closed around his hand. Potter's eyes shone in the barest moonlight trickling in through the windows. "Where are you going?" Potter's voice was jagged with sleep and…_something_.

_Fuck, I love you._

Draco swallowed, glad that the night obscured his expression. "Nowhere that concerns you," he said quietly, unable to put the bite behind the words.

"You're wrong."

"Excuse you?"

"It does concern me."

Feeling the anger and the confusion from that evening well up in his chest, Draco attempted to shake off Potter's grip on his arm. "Oh, really? And how do you figure that?"

Potter tightened his fingers around Draco's hand, pulling the standing man off balance until he fell against Potter's chest with an unhappy grunt. Draco struggled against Potter's arms, which closed around his shoulders, pressing against his back, forcing Draco's body to straddle Potter's once again.

"Because I deserve to know why you're ruining our afterglow by running away," Potter said calmly against Draco's temple, causing him to slump against Potter in surrender.

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance as stillness blanketed the room.

_I should be gone by now – saving this bloody castle that you love so much_, Draco thought morosely, but only clung to Potter more firmly.

"…What the fuck are we doing?" Draco mumbled quietly, burning the feel of Potter's bare skin into his memory. Potter's soft scoffing noise was muffled quickly in the moonlight.

"I don't know anymore, Draco. I don't know," he sighed. "God, what a fucking disaster," Potter cussed softly. "Fucking Voldemort."

_…What?_

Draco squirmed against Potter's embrace until his forearms were propped against Potter's chest. "What does the Dark Lord have to do with anything?" Draco could see Potter's shadowed mouth turn into a frown.

"The reason I was gone all that time, officially, is because I was helping the Ministry dispose of Voldemort's body down in Albania." Potter's voice was stilted, unhappy and hesitant in the air.

Draco's chest tightened, unsure if he really wanted to have this conversation.

_But it's now or never._

"'Officially'?"

Potter sighed again, dropping his head back against the cushions. "That isn't the entire story."

Draco ran a thumb against Potter's jaw, feeling short, scratchy stubble. "Tell me," he breathed.

Potter swallowed nervously before he began. "After the Battle, I went with the Weasleys back to the Burrow and began rebuilding my life. Fuck, those first few weeks were awful, but at least we were all united against our grief."

Draco recalled those horrible days when he'd been under house arrest in the Manor, bodies and scarring memories lying around every corner like dynamite.

"I even proposed to Gin, sure that there was no better time to prove that I wanted to be with her for the rest of our lives, even if we didn't know how long that would be. But then more and more weeks passed, and things between us began to get…bad," Potter said lamely. Draco couldn't quell the shot of acrid jealously that rose up in him. "We began fighting over the barmiest stuff, and, well, we just weren't getting any better. We still so unhappy _all the time_…" Potter breathed tiredly. "After the relief from surviving the war wore off, I think she began to blame me for not stopping Voldemort sooner," Potter told the darkness.

"She might not have ever said the words out loud, but I could see it in her eyes every time someone mentioned Fred's name, or whenever we'd get an invitation to another funeral. Jesus, _so many_ funerals." Draco could feel Potter's pain in the way those muscles stiffened beneath him. Crabbe's crying mother, huddled over a new grave, flashed across his eyes. "So when your mum asked for my help, I was only too glad to get out of the Burrow for a bit, even if it was to help you, of all people." Draco could make out Potter's mouth twitching into a bitter smile as he raised his eyes to Draco's once again. "It was a bit of a surprise when I began to prefer being at the Manor with you than being back at the Burrow with everyone else.

"You were the same smarmy arsehole you'd always been, and, God, I was so grateful that you didn't look at me like everything was my fault, or that I was about to fall into a million pieces. Those Wednesdays started to be the highlight of my week."

Something dark crept into Potter's tone. "…But then rumours that Gin and I were breaking off the engagement began circulating, and that damn article came out." He huffed out a low chuckle. "I suppose the accusation that I was shagging _you_ of all blokes was the last straw, and Ginny and I were done. Ron, of course, was furious and confused, like everyone was, so I left the Burrow and went to the house that Sirius left me." There was a long beat of odd silence.

"And then your mother visited."

"What?" Draco asked in disbelief. Potter merely nodded.

"She sat me down and told me that if I wasn't serious about you, that if I didn't really want to 'go down that difficult path' with you, than I needed to disappear for a while. Otherwise, you would get seriously hurt." Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"My mother told you to vanish if you didn't fancy me?" Draco repeated in laymen's terms, trying to understand the absurdity of the statement.

"Yes."

"And you just followed her orders so easily?" Draco voice rose with resentment and hurt. Potter's arms tightened around him in response.

"Draco, I had just broken off my engagement with the girl I had thought was the love of my life, only having defeated the greatest Dark wizard of our age mere months before and having witnessed the deaths of countless friends – it wasn't exactly the easiest time to be coming to terms with the fact that I might fucking care about my schoolyard enemy!" Draco's lips parted, struggling to comprehend what Potter was confessing.

"So you left." Draco finally said.

"Yes. I'd been thinking about going abroad for a while already when Kingsley owled me a few hours after your mum left, asking for some help in a project with the Department of Mysteries."

"Kingsley _Shacklebolt_? The temporary Minister of Magic?"

"Yeah. Apparently the Department of Mysteries had been trying to destroy Voldemort's body, which had been dangerously infused with Dark magic. They needed me to dispose of the corpse, so I took up the offer and travelled to Albania. It took some time, but our team finally got rid of it."

"Fucking hell, Harry," Draco murmured, not even able to imagine the amount of raw magical energy that must course through his veins.

Potter's emerald eyes gleamed in the icy light trickling in from the windows. "Draco, you have to understand that I had no idea how badly the public was reacting to those stupid rumours while I was gone – it was a media dead-zone out there, considering we had chosen a location as far from civilization as possible to dispose of the corpse. By the time I got back, you'd already sent out your statement in _The Snake Whisperer_, and it was too late for me to do much."

"You should have contacted me before you fucking disappeared," Draco snapped, trying to retain the anger biting at the pit of his stomach.

Potter nodded. "I know, I should have," he agreed softly. "I was just…" He let out a pathetic laugh that sounded like surrender. "I was bloody _scared_. I've been through hell and back, but I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I really faced you and my fucking feelings.

"But after some time with Charlie Weasley and his boyfriend in Romania, I knew I had to stop being a fucking coward. That's why I came back and began asking around, wondering where you could be. I'd almost given up when I heard about McGonagall's rebuilding project– it was total luck that I even found you here."

Potter's voice was barely a whisper, every muscle in Draco's body feeling tense and ready to spring at any moment as Potter's voice continued to soften. "And here you were, the same conceited, moody, sarcastic, stubborn –"

"This better be going somewhere," Draco growled.

Potter's smile was crooked, that same crooked grin that caused Draco's heart to skip a beat. "– witty, brilliant, gorgeous Slytherin I'd tried so hard to forget," the Gryffindor breathed before closing that sliver of space, pressing his chapped lips against Draco's soft ones.

Draco resisted for a small moment before melting against Potter's chest, wrapping his arms around Potter's neck as Potter raised his torso, positioning Draco squarely on his lap once again.

Draco grunted in surprise as Potter pushed him onto his back, Potter bracketed between his thighs. He looked up at Potter as he pulled away, at the monochromatic shades of grey that loomed over his supine form.

"What the fuck are we doing, Harry?" Draco breathed once again.

But Potter didn't hear him, or purposefully ignored the plea. The shadow leaned down, capturing Draco's mouth with his own once again, his warm hands pulling Draco's knees over his shoulders.

Draco felt breathless as his cock twitched against his abdomen, Potter's length bumping against his sore arse. "I don't think –" Draco started against Potter's lips, only to stop when those rough fingers enclosed around his quickly-hardening erection.

He closed his eyes as heat pooled in his stomach, and twinges of sharp pleasure sang up his spine as Potter's cock brushed against his sensitive hole. He bit down on Potter's bottom lip, enjoying the groan he pulled from the man.

The moments passed fluidly as he grasped Potter's arms tightly, making soft noises around Potter's tongue. The darkness hid them in its anonymity, a gift Draco was only too thankful for as he whispered Potter's name as he came for the second time, savouring Potter's moan as he, too, found completion against Draco's skin.

The moon shone brightly over Hogwarts' crumbling walls as the two boys slipped into dreams, nestled against one another.

ooOoo

"AH!" The wail pierced through Draco's slumber, violently yanking him into reality.

"Wha-?"

"OH MERLIN, MY _EYES_!"

"Oh my."

"Oh, Weasley, Granger. You're already here."

"Well, this happened sooner than I expected."

"You owe me two Galleons, Pans."

Draco blinked the blurriness out of his vision, blanching when a group of triumphant, horrified, and bemused faces stared back at him.

"'Morning," Pansy smirked, Theo, Blaise, Weasley and Granger all watching behind her. Draco was suddenly very aware that he was without clothing, and that Harry Potter was waking up behind him.

Grabbing a fallen pillow to cover his groin, Draco sat up, schooling his features into a calm mask. "And why exactly are all of you in my quarters?" He asked coolly, willing his blush to abide as Potter nuzzled his hip, still on the brink of wakefulness.

Pansy's grin widened, and Weasley turned a dangerously ashen colour when Potter mumbled Draco's name, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist.

Draco elbowed him swiftly in the side.

"Oi!" Potter grunted, jolting upright. His mouth hung open as he took in their audience. Draco swiftly shoved another pillow against Potter's chest, which fell to give the Chosen One a sparse bit of decency.

"Hermione? Ron?" Potter asked weakly, fumbling for his glasses, which he clumsily put on. Granger's mouth twitched at the corners, and Weasley's face had stopped on a stoically pained expression. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Well, when you didn't show up at breakfast…or lunch," Granger said meaningfully, causing Potter's cheeks to become tinged with red, "Ron and I checked the Map to see where you'd gotten off to." Her look trailed across the scratches on Potter's arms, and the various love bites on their bodies. Draco could feel the pink on his cheeks as well.

Potter swallowed audibly, nodding. "So…is there something you needed?"

Weasley shot him an unimpressed look, clearing his throat. "We figured you'd wanna know that the entire bloody castle is falling down around our ears, mate. McGonagall said that we've all got to clear out of here. Today."

Draco glanced sharply at his three friends, who all levelled resigned gazes back at him.

_Fuck_.

"What? That's it? Hogwarts is done for?" Potter questioned angrily, his intense eyes flashing dangerously. Granger's face creased with disappointment and pity.

"There's nothing left to do about the Fiendfyre, Harry. Zabini and I researched nearly all night. There's no mention of the counter-curse in any of the texts here, and it's too late to owl any experts." Blaise nodded emotionlessly at Granger's side. "At this point, we're just trying to save as many of Hogwarts' irreplaceable items as possible. Ron and I are supposed to go help clear out the remaining portraits after we tell you all this."

"And Blaise and I are off to the professors' offices to salvage any expensive things they've left behind. We came to see if Draco could help, but you were…occupied, apparently." Theo added. Draco watched with a prickling throat as Potter dropped his head into his hands, defeat portrayed in the sad bow of his shoulders.

Pansy cleared her throat loudly. "Well, then. I think we all have places to get to, don't we?" She raised her eyebrows at Draco before pointedly glancing at Potter. With a few last looks, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy were trailing out of the room, Granger and Weasley following reluctantly.

The silence was jagged with melancholy as Draco and Potter were alone once again.

Draco took in the wounded curve of Potter's silhouette, and tightened his hands into fists on his knees.

_Salazar, give me strength_, he prayed as he stood, _accio_-ing some clean clothes from his bedroom, which he hastily slipped into. He spared a glance at Potter, who remained still in his prone pose.

"Potter–" he began, but closed his mouth in sudden speechlessness. He reached out a hand instead, allowing himself the moment of weakness to stroke Potter's ridiculously messy hair, which was soft under his fingertips.

But then the moment was over, and he pulled away, secretly wishing Potter would stop or call out to him as he stepped through the door.

But as he closed the entrance behind him, Potter remained silent.

ooOoo

Draco's mind was oddly clear and calm as he stepped through the deserted halls of the castle. _Potter said that Longbottom had opened a passageway through the Hog's Head, so I guess I'll have to journey into Hogsmeade_, he thought simply as he stepped down the main staircase, his loafers echoing against the marble.

"Malfoy?" Davies stood in the archway to the Great Hall, twirling his wand around his fingers.

_Fuck_. "Davies," Draco greeted, stopping at the foot of the stairs, not wanting to give away his planned escape through the front doors.

Davies' mouth twitched up at the corners, and his eyes glittered in the torchlight and sunlight that illuminated the cavernous room. "Going somewhere?" Davies grinned, never stopping the infinite spins of his wand.

Draco licked his suddenly dry lips. "That's not any of your business, is it, Davies?"

Davies' grin widened. "I suppose not." He shrugged. "I just figured you might want some help getting into the Room of Requirement through the passage in the Hog's Head. But, hey, if you don't need me…" Davies trailed off, his eyes still glittering with amusement as Draco's jaw went slack with surprise.

"How–?" Davies shrugged again.

"I've read enough accounts of the Battle of Hogwarts to know things, Draco. And the rest wasn't too hard to put together." Davies brushed some invisible dust off the shoulder of his crisp shirt. "I'm just surprised Granger or Potter didn't think of it. Guess they never even assumed someone would be stupid enough to try and defeat the Fiendfyre internally."

"You sound oddly critical of a plan you helped develop, Davies," Draco said coolly, feeling strangely threatened as the Ravenclaw continued to grin.

"Whatever you say, Draco. So, would you care for some aid or not?"

Draco's eyes narrowed, knowing he couldn't trust Davies entirely – After all, what could he possibly gain from helping Draco? – but that didn't mean he couldn't be of use.

"Fine. You can assist me – but you must agree to follow my instructions if any unseen problems arise."

Davies raised a sceptical eyebrow, but nodded. "Sure. After you, sir," Davies said silkily, gesturing towards the entryway. Draco couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but led the way out of the castle.

The dull _thud!_ of the heavy doors behind them sounded like the closing of a coffin.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: So…two more chapters, I'm thinking. Um, yeah. That's all I gotta say. Thanks to all you lovelies who keep reading, even if you don't review or favourite or follow or anything. Still means a lot. **


	14. Lesson Fourteen

ooOoo

Lesson Fourteen

ooOoo

The trek into Hogsmeade Village was achingly pleasant, the sunlight causing the summer flora to glisten and shimmer. Draco felt stiff, detached from his body in a way, as carefree townsfolk frolicked and laughed around his and Davies' dark figures. They slipped through the alleyways, taking the most obscure route to the grungy pub on the outskirts of town. Draco could have sworn he saw the flash of Rita Skeeter's toxic-coloured robes on the corner of his vision as they passed behind The Three Broomsticks, and, sure enough, her icy whine pierced through the warm air.

"-that little brat. Doesn't understand good journalism. Should take this to trial – cursing us all like that," she was muttering to herself as she puffed on a cigarette. Davies raised an amused eyebrow at Draco as they stepped through the shadows.

The Hog's Head loomed out of the dust and weeds, and Davies stopped Draco before they approached the front door, his hand grasping Draco's forearm firmly. "Now, I don't know how much you know about The Hog's Head here, Draco, but I'm going to guess that Aberforth isn't going to take too keenly to the chap who tried to off his brother trying to sneak up to his rooms." Draco frowned, pulling his arm out of Davies' grip.

"And I suppose you have some sort of solution?"

Davies flashed his white rows of teeth. "Well, I'm thinking that an old-fashioned distraction will give you enough time to get upstairs and access the portrait."

"The portrait?"

"Yeah, of Ariana Dumbledore."

Draco simply stared at Davies, who sighed. "Did you read _any_ accounts of the Battle of Hogwarts?"

"I was too busy reliving my own memories of the war, Davies," Draco hissed coolly. Davies shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Draco. Anyways, the tunnel that Potter, Weasley, Granger used to get into Hogwarts is located behind the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, Aberforth's sister. You'll have to tell her to open it for you, especially since Augusta Longbottom sealed off the end in the Room of Requirement."

Draco swallowed. "Very well. And how do you plan on distracting Aberforth and the rest of the patrons?" Davies' grin was sharp and eerie again.

"Just leave that to me." Davies reached a hand inside his robes, pulling out his wand. "Wait here for fifteen minutes, then head upstairs." He suddenly wacked Draco on the crown of his head with his wand, and an unsettling wetness seemed to seep down Draco's body. _A Disillusionment Charm, then,_ Draco realized.

With one last disconcerting smirk, Davies opened the thick, creaky door to the pub as disappeared from Draco's sight. Draco cast a quick _tempus_, watching the misty clock tick onwards, and Davies' allotted time passed.

_BANG!_

Draco startled, feeling vibrations under his feet. The Hog's Head seemed to rattle on its foundation, and mouldy wood and rusty nails creaked angrily. _Well, I suppose that's the distraction_, Draco thought, steeling his nerves as he stepped through the door. Smoke filled his vision, and violent _crack!_s and coughing could be heard from the cloud of grey ash and dust.

_Stairs, where are the bloody stairs?_

But then he could make out a dim step in the vagueness and began to climb, allowing the smoky chaos to become muffled beneath him. The air was clean in the small room he found himself in; the empty fireplace gapped, and the table was cleared of everything but a half-finished tumbler of scotch.

And then he saw it – the portrait.

The young girl watched him with vacant eyes, apparently able to see Draco even through the charm. She was pretty, in an innocent sort of way, as though her naivety and agelessness had been made into physical traits.

Draco tentatively stepped forward, unnerved but simultaneously calmed by Ariana's pleasant smile. "Hello," Draco whispered. She tilted her head in curiosity, still smiling. "You're Ariana, right?"

The girl's smile widened, and she nodded vigorously. Draco's mouth twitched into a grin as well.

_CRASH!_

Draco jumped, turning his head to the top of the stairs, suddenly remembering that he was on a very limited schedule. He looked back at Ariana, who was frowning in puzzlement at him.

"Ariana, do you know of a passageway into Hogwarts?" She hesitated, and Draco's heart was caught in his throat. _No, it can't be over now._

But then she nodded slowly. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Could you show it to me? I really need to get in there." She pouted questioningly at him.

"The school's in trouble, you see. It's going to be destroyed if I don't stop it – and I can't let that happen." Potter's angry, broken expression flashed across his mind. "Too many people care about that bloody castle for it to be decimated like that," he breathed honestly, staring at the brickwork of the hearth.

A moment of silence passed, and he shook himself out of his stupor. Ariana was smiling at him again. "Will you let me through, please?" She nodded.

Draco held his breath as the portrait swung open, revealing a dark tunnel the seemed to stretch endlessly. "Thank you," he whispered, somehow knowing that Ariana could hear him.

He held up a hand, wandlessly conjuring a small flame, and set off into the passageway.

o

The tunnel went on for miles, and Draco was panting by the time he came across the solid wall of magic that signalled the end. Using the hand that wasn't cradling his light source, he reached out, pressing tentative fingertips against the sturdy shield.

_Augusta Longbottom, huh? This spell is pretty powerful_, Draco thought distantly. He was more impressed by the fact that the Room had somehow not noticed it in its rampage for more magical energy.

But, now that the thought was in his head, Draco could feel fracturing cracks throughout the wall, spidery, stretching fissures that caused the spell to quiver as Draco pushed a small amount of his magic into it.

_Fuck, this was about to collapse. And who knows what would have happened if the Fiendfyre had gotten into the tunnel. _Draco paused, biting on the inside of his cheek as he thought of how to get inside the Room. _Well, I'll at least have to build another blockade like this one behind me._

He turned, raising his Disillusioned hand at the dark shadows on the passageway he'd climbed through. "_Protego Horribilis!_" _Considering Fiendfyre is Cursed, Dark magic, that should at least hold it at bay long enough for me to destroy the Room – with me in it._

His throat suddenly felt very dry as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

He turned back to the fractured wall of magic, his fingers now shaking as he pressed against it once again_. Potter, this is for _Potter_. Potter, who won't remember me as the annoying git from school, or the coward from the war, but as that man he was with last night, the man who sacrificed himself for the thousands of children like Potter who'll pass through these walls_, he believed stubbornly. He couldn't stop the images of his mother, and his friends – Pansy, Theo, Blaise, even Marcus and Wood – that flashed across his mind, but he painfully buried them under his resolve.

_Now all I have to do is get in there and live long enough to connect my core with Hogwart's._

And then the idea struck him.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the Quidditch pitch, rain, and a kiss.

"_Expecto Patronum_," he breathed.

Warmth filled him up, and he opened his eyes to stare at the shimmering panther, which sat in front of him, its silver tail flicking violently against the stone floor.

"At least I'm not alone now," Draco murmured to his Patronus, whose dazzling eyes blinked at him in agreement. "Try to keep these things away from me, okay? For as long as you can." The panther stood, tensing beside Draco as he reached out to the seal one last time, swallowing his nerves.

"_Finite_."

And as the barricade crumbled, searing heat attacked Draco's body. He cried out, raising his arms to protect his face as his Patronus leapt in front of him, roaring noiselessly at the flaming creatures that flocked to the new prey.

Blinding fire filled Draco's vision as he took a step into the Room, and sweat began to pour down his skin, only to be burned away in seconds. His senses were screaming in panic, and he couldn't seem to remember anything but the last time he'd been in here – his brush with death, only to be saved by Potter.

_Potter_.

He stumbled onto his knees, barely registering that his Patronus was managing to keep the Fiendfyre away, if only momentarily. He reached down, flinching as the scalding heat of the stone burned away the sensitive skin on his fingertips.

He tried to clear his mind, replicating a process he'd done dozens of times back in his hellish sixth year.

_Please, make this room smaller._

_ I need the room to get smaller._

_ Small enough to suffocate me._

And as he felt that familiar tingle of response from the Room around him, he pushed his magic into Hogwarts' core, choking on his bellow of pain as Hogwarts ripped it from him, greedily pulling at his energy like the dying entity it was. He fell forward on his hands, which were stuck to the floor as though magnetized.

His shining Patronus circled his fallen form, snarling silently at the roaring, burning monsters. Draco could feel his epidermis continue to burn, the heat so intense against his skin that it felt cold. Layers of his flesh seared away as the Room's walls began to close in, and Draco could feel his clothes catch on fire.

Hogwarts continue to suck at his magic, and he screamed without a sound, his lungs blistering with smoke as his brilliant panther began to flicker, its iridescent eyes turning on him in concern as the Fiendfyre seemed to jeer around him.

He lost the strength to hold up his arms, and his body fell to the blisteringly hot stone floor. His eyes watered, the moisture immediately evaporating into the air as he pushed his last bit of magic into Hogwarts' grasping hold, which ravenously tore it from him.

And then he was empty – and his Patronus blinked out of existence.

He couldn't help but think of Potter's crooked grin as he closed his eyes.

And then it was dark.

And quiet.

_Finally_.

_**Peace**_.

o

It was dark.

_And then it wasn't._

_ Everything was a soft, creamy colour. He could see Mummy and Daddy's smiling faces, their eyes glittering with gentle happiness. "Come here, Draco," his mother's voice echoed in the sunlight, her features blurred somehow. And then he was toddling along, hearing their triumphant words of praise-_

_ The fireplace cast the world in a ruddy orange colour. Mummy and Daddy were sad – Draco could hear them in the next room. Draco stood, cradling his new Winter Solstice gift, a miniature dragon that was soft and fluffy to the touch. Mummy was crying about something in the salon. He peaked around the corner, his parents' silhouettes black against the bright plumage of the flames. "-no use. You know He'll return eventually, Lucius." Daddy sounded nervous, denying it strongly, muttering something that sounded like 'Harry Potter'-_

_ He saw red – bloody Potter – how dare he turn down his offer of friendship like that? Did he think he was too good for Draco – that he was somehow better, sitting with that pathetic Weasley? Oh, he would pay for this-_

_ The night sky was violet, and Pansy was tugging him further into the gardens. "Pans – I don't think I want to," Draco tried to pull away, hearing odd noises from the rose bushes around them. He could hear the sounds of the Ball behind them, and Pansy suddenly stopped, turning and messily pressing her lips against his. He recoiled, and surreally realized that maybe it wasn't that Pans wasn't the right girl, but that no girl would be the right one-_

_ Myrtle glowed a pale blue, her face a pitying impression in the mirror. She was saying some platitude, but it didn't matter, the Dark Lord was going to kill them all if he didn't do it. But, Merlin, he couldn't, he just couldn't-_

_ His father's face was haggard, tinged an awful green as Theo and Draco jumped apart. Oh, it was so unfair, to be caught over a chaste kiss of comfort, having only just returned from Crabbe's funeral. "You – you," Lucius stammered, raising a skinny, pale finger to point at Draco, who quaked with fear-_

_ And Potter's hair was the purest shade of black, curling around his ears in that stupidly endearing way as he sauntered into the ballroom, like the past few Wednesdays. Potter grinned sharply, raising his eyebrows in a dare as he held out his arms, begging for Draco to prove his wandless abilities, to challenge him and make that light in his eyes shine-_

But then everything was dark once again, and Draco felt very alone.

"_Stinguo! __**Stinguo!**__**STINGUO!**_"

_Huh, how odd. _

"Fuck, Draco? _Draco_?"

"Malfoy?"

"Potter, he's here. Quickly, but do not touch him!"

_The gods sound awfully similar to Potter. And McGonagall. And…Weasley?_

"Oh, my – he's covered in third-degree burns."

_Granger?_

"Oh, fuck. We have to get him out of here, now."

"Mate, are you sure he's alive?"

"_Shut the fuck up_, Ron, he has to be–"

"Now is not the time for hysterics, gentlemen. Mister Malfoy is most certainly alive, and in desperate need for medical attention."

_Figures Weasley and Granger would be in my afterlife_, Draco thought hysterically, his vision blood-red and throbbing in its darkness.

"I apologize, Mister Malfoy, but this will hurt: _Rennervate!_"

Oh, Merlin, the _agony_. His entire body was flawed raw, exposed and being stabbed by thousands of needles. He distantly heard awful, high-pitched wailing, and suddenly realized it was coming from him.

He opened his eyes, his sockets seemingly filled with sand, and stared up at the dim faces that loomed over him, their features blackened and blurred.

"Jesus, please tell me there's something we can do to stop the pain," the voice that was like Potter's begged over Draco's shrieks, sounding gutted.

"_Torpens! _That should numb him for a limited time." The voice like Granger said quietly.

"Mister Malfoy? Are you lucid?"

Sacred respite washed through his limbs, cooling the excruciating pain. Draco stopped screaming, his throat feeling sore as he sobbed in relief. His vision cleared, and he blinked tears out of his eyes to gaze up at Harry Potter's broken expression.

"'arry?" He choked on the smoke that burned through his airways. Harry's eyes creased with relief.

"Oh, God, Draco," he gasped, reaching out a palm that he pulled back, clearly not wanting to touch Draco's injured skin. "You _stupid_ son of a bitch," Harry's smile was watery, but was quickly replaced by a thin-lipped scowl. "What the absolute _fuck_ were you thinking? Why were you trying TO BLOODY KILL YOURSELF?" Harry was suddenly yelling, and Draco flinched.

"If it meant saving the castle, I was willing to give up the rest of this worthless life," he coughed. Harry's eyes flashed.

"IT'S JUST A FUCKING _BUILDING_, DRACO. IT'S NOT WORTH ANYBODY _DYING_ FOR – ESPECIALLY NOT YOU!" Harry's face was flushed with anger, and a long line of ash was smeared across his cheekbones.

Draco had never loved him more.

"Harry –" Granger said from somewhere out of Draco's limited vision.

"Mate, really, give him a break," Weasley cut in, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. He too loomed over Draco. "Look, Malfoy, there'll be another time to question why the hell you had trapped yourself in here, but right now we need to get you to St. Mungo's."

Draco coughed again, worryingly beginning to feel pinpricks of discomfort in his fingers and toes. "Won't treat me – Hospital Wing – Granger and Johnson – fine."

And with one last look into Potter's fiery eyes, he fainted.

ooOoo

To be Continued…

ooOoo

**606's Note: Yes, this was wee bit shorter than usual – but for good reason! Everything will be wrapped up in the next lesson (and there might be an epilogue after that…maybe)! Also, I'm gonna try and update sooner than two weeks from now, so, as in the words of Alastor Moody, CONSTANT VIGILANCE (for the next chapter)!**

**P.S. This is the closest I will ever be able to get to action/plot, so just…don't expect too much from me, alright? *hides***

**P.P.S. Sorry this is late – I'm in Orlando to visit the new Harry Potter World extension! :D**


	15. Lesson Fifteen

ooOoo

Lesson Fifteen

ooOoo

Draco awoke to the thundering of rain against the Hospital Wing's windows. He opened his eyelids slowly, adjusting to the dim, grey light that filtered into the large room. He tried lifting his head, but found that he had no strength in his limbs.

His voice was gravelly as he croaked out a desolate, "-otter?"

"Mister Malfoy!" That was not Harry Potter.

A blurry face loomed over Draco suddenly, and he blinked the grogginess out of his sight. Madam Pomfrey was fussing with something in her hands, and Draco heard the slosh of liquid. "I'm glad you're awake, dear. We were all worried there for a spell. Now, open your mouth for me." She pressed the rim of a cup against Draco's lips, which he cracked open with effort. He was just so bloody _tired_.

The potion slid down his throat, blessedly tasteless. He immediately felt more energized, and regained the feeling in his limbs. He struggled to sit, with Madam Pomfrey helping him lean against a stack of pillows.

"There you go," said Madam Pomfrey with a pitying smile as she took a step back from the bed. Draco could finally see the rest of the empty Hospital Wing…and his own body. He was clothed in the simple, striped pyjamas he remembered from his rare trips here years ago. What caught his gaze were his hands, which he raised into the air, examining them from every angle.

"Good as new," Madam Pomfrey's soft smile continued to grow as she fussed with more bottles on the table next to Draco. And his hands _were_ as good as new, the skin as pale and flawless as they'd been before the – just, before.

"I was expecting at least some sort of scar," Draco murmured as he peeked down the front of his shirt, noting the pristine state of his chest – the _Sectumsepra_ scars a shade lighter than the surrounding flesh, as always.

Pomfrey made an odd sort of noise, causing Draco to glance at her. "Well, not everything is _exactly_ as it was before you got yourself into that mess in the Room of Requirement." A drop of acidic dread slithered into Draco's stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"That…_mark_ on your arm – the Dark magic that was embedded in it reacted with the Dark essence of the Fiendfyre, and, well," she trailed off, and Draco turned his eyes to his left forearm, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he pulled the sleeve back.

The Dark Mark was a startling off-white, the skin on the edges of the Mark seared black. Draco swallowed, his stomach rolling with disgust at the damaged limb. He turned his head sharply to stare at Pomfrey, whose eyes were glistening with pity again.

"It was the one section of skin we couldn't fix with magic. There are some Muggle methods we can try to increase the chances of the burn healing, but I wanted you to awaken before we decided on anything."

The air was saturated with the sounds of the storm outside and the dull ringing that was filling Draco's ears. He couldn't stop staring at the Mark, at its new look. This is what his stupid plan to stop the Fiendfyre amounted to: his near death and another reason for people to be disgusted with him.

_Wait…the Fiendfyre-_

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Almost a week. I had to keep you under a Stasis Charm for days while Miss Johnson, Miss Granger and I tried to think of a way to heal your burns."

"What happened with the Fiendfyre? Is the castle alright? Is Potter –?"

"I believe I can answer your questions, Mister Malfoy," a calm voice said from the entranceway. Draco and Madam Pomfrey turned to see Headmistress McGonagall striding towards them, an unreadable expression on her aging face.

"Headmistress," Draco greeted, his voice sounding oddly breathless.

"Draco, I'm glad to see that you are awake," McGonagall said with a startling smile, her visage suddenly relaxing. Draco distantly noticed that this was the first time she had called him by anything other than 'Mister Malfoy.'

"Headmistress, what happened?"

McGonagall's smile grew wry around the edges as she conjured a stool to sit elegantly on at Draco's bedside. "Well, Mister Malfoy, it seems that Miss Parkinson and the rest of your acquaintances were able to put together what you planned to do not long after you set upon your course to save the castle single-handedly. Luckily for everyone involved, I received an owl from one of my sources about how to stop the Fiendfyre almost simultaneously."

_Ah, Pans_, Draco thought gratefully. _Of course she'd been able to complete his thoughts from breakfast. But, damn, she's going to make me repay her for this for decades._

"After she could not find you anywhere in the castle, Miss Parkinson was intelligent enough to approach me when she realized what you planned to do. I was just about to head out to stop you when Mister Potter, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley all collided with me on the way to Hogsmeade." McGonagall's eyebrow rose imperiously. "Apparently Mister Nott had relayed your plans to Mister Potter, who was quite…_determined_ to keep you from harm."

Draco felt a shock of heat run through his chest. McGonagall's eyes twinkled interestedly over her spectacles. "After that, we traced your path down to the Hog's Head, where Mister Davies was kind enough to tell us the details of your scheme. Equipped with the counter-curse to the Fiendfyre, it was easy enough to solve the problem of the Room. You, however," McGonagall said with sudden severity, her eyes losing their happy twinkle, "were in quite a terrible state, and I owled Madam Pomfrey at once to aid your healing process. And, well, here you are."

Draco swallowed, watching the miniature rivers flow down the glass of the windows. He could still feel the flames licking his skin, gnawing him to his core, the sensation turning painless as his nerves were burned away…

"But all of the Fiendfyre is gone?"

"Yes, quite so, dear," an ancient, lilting voice confirmed.

Draco blinked, not believing his eyes. "Oh, Laima, you're here," McGonagall greeted. His previous boss, the friendly manager of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, shuffled closer to the bed, her pale, shining eyes wide as she stared at Draco.

"Hullo, dear. Are you feeling better?" She asked sweetly.

"Uh, yes. But what are _you_ doing here, Laima?"

The sagging widow perched on the side of Draco's cot, her unblinking eyes still staring eerily. "My dear, were you not listening to Minerva? I responded to her letter asking about the counter-curse to Fiendfyre." Draco could only stare back, thoroughly surprised. Who could have guessed that the potions shop manager was also an expert in cursed fire? Although, those who worked in Knockturn were bound to be learned in most aspects of the Dark Arts…

"Dear? Are you still listening?" Draco jolted away from his thoughts, focusing on the headmistress and the widow.

"Ah, yes. So, with the Fiendfyre gone, is Hogwarts' magic coming back?" McGonagall smiled, nodding in affirmation.

"Quite so. Even the portraits are returning from wherever they had gone. Everything is back to normal. So I must thank you, Mister Malfoy. For, without your help, Hogwarts would be nothing more than a pile of rubble at this point." Headmistress McGonagall reached out a hand, grasping Draco's bony shoulder and squeezing it firmly. "You will, of course, be welcomed back to Hogwarts with the rest of your class in a few weeks, as we discussed."

_Oh, right. That is what all of this was about, wasn't it?_ That time when he was living at the Manor, talking with Pansy about her Hogwarts letter seemed years ago, not weeks. "Thank you, Headmistress." And with one last squeeze, McGonagall slipped out of the Hospital Wing, Laima following behind her.

For an empty moment, everything was quiet except for the low _clink!_s from the glass jars Madam Pomfrey was handling. _So, that's it. Everything was resolved._ _My plan worked, in a circumvented way_, Draco slowly realized. Weight was lifting off his shoulders, and tension bled from his limbs as he flopped back against the bed, feeling exhausted.

_Merlin, I wonder how many times Potter has felt this bone-deep satisfaction from saving someone._ And then Draco was sitting up again, a confused tilt to his frown.

_Where _is_ Potter?_

o

"Really now, do try and remain quiet – Mister Malfoy is still being weaned off his potions, after all," Madam Pomfrey warned as the crowd hustled into the Wing, coalescing around Draco's bed.

"Hullo, you bitch. I see you're making a fine recovering," Pansy sneered icily. "Now you can begin explaining how you could be so stupid and still call yourself a Slytherin."

Draco grinned honestly. "I'm glad to see you too, Pans." Pansy huffed, looking away, but Draco could see how reassured she was by the way she lowered her shoulders, calming her posture.

"Your plan truly was idiotic, you know," Blaise said haughtily, transfiguring an empty cup into a comfortable, high-backed chair he could sit proudly on. "They might have to induct you into Gryffindor next year as a reward. I assume that the test to get in is trying to save everyone by killing yourself."

"Oi, keep the Gryffindor hate to yourself, Zabini," Wood growled, and Marcus smirked pointedly as he slung an arm around Oliver's shoulders. Blaise shrugged daintily, pulling out his wand to manicure his fingernails.

Theo didn't say anything, merely stood near the head of the bed, his hand resting firmly on Draco's shoulder – a silent source of comfort. Draco appreciated it greatly.

The group spent the rest of the day like that, bickering good-naturedly, sharing gossipy predictions for the next school year. The longing in Marcus' and Wood's eyes contradicted their words of gratefulness that they were done with school for the rest of their lives.

When it became time for dinner, Marcus and Wood trickled out, bidding stoic farewells to Draco, promising to visit him one last time before all of the volunteers left the newly-renovated castle. Pansy yawned, standing from her seat on the arm of Blaise's chair. "Well, I might as well go see what slop the elves have served tonight. Coming, Blaise?" He shrugged.

"Might as well. It must be better than whatever Pomfrey is serving here." Draco grimaced. It was true – the Hospital Wing really wasn't known for its wonderful meals. "Well, Dray-Dray, we'll see you tomorrow." Blaise chortled at Draco's irritated expression.

Draco watched Pansy and Blaise approach the door to the entryway, then he struck. He pictured Blaise tripping forcefully, and flicked his fingers.

Blaise stumbled, but retained his balance.

Draco swallowed around his suddenly dry throat, staring at his hands in horror. _Oh, Merlin_. He could remember when he'd connected his core to Hogwarts', the violent way the castle had ripped his magic away from him. At the end of it all, he'd felt empty of all magic.

Had he damaged his core somehow?

_Oh, fuck._

"Draco? Y'alright?" Theo asked concernedly. Draco didn't even hear him, too absorbed at the thought of being nothing more than a glorified Squib, a magical being with the barest traces of magic. _Oh, _fuck.

"Draco, you're worrying me. Draco!" Theo leaned over him, shaking his shoulders roughly. Draco looked at him, his eyes wide as he reached out to grip Theo's arms in horror.

"Oh, Merlin, Theo. What if it doesn't come back?" Theo's face was strained with anxiety, and some of his dark hair fell across his eyes.

"If _what_ doesn't come back? Draco, what's wrong?"

"My magic, Theo! I must've done something to it. Oh, Salazar, what have I done?" Draco covered his face with his hands, needing the privacy and projected solitude. _Death would be solace in comparison to a life without magic._

"Mister Nott? Is something the matter?" Draco heard Madam Pomfrey approach the bed, and Theo muttered something frantically to her. "Oh dear. Well, I'm sure I have some strengthening potions around here somewhere." Draco felt a worn, calloused hand settle on his arm. "Don't worry, Mister Malfoy. We will fix this."

Draco slowly pulled his hands away from his face, and glanced at the witch. Her eyes weren't filled with pity like normal, but more of a firm resolve that calmed Draco significantly. He took a deep breath, falling back onto the pillows once again. This was out of his hands now, and he could only hope that Madam Pomfrey could fix it.

o

Draco was officially released out of the coddling hands of Poppy Pomfrey on the evening of August 26th, a balmy day that was teasing the flickering touch of fall on the horizon.

He shut the door to the Hospital Wing firmly behind him, breathing in a deep lungful of air as he leaned against the wood.

He felt better.

Yes, he would still get lost in the memories of burning alive every now and then, and, yes, his Mark was still in that repulsive state on his arm, and, _yes_, his magical core was still rather weak.

But he felt better. Better than when the castle had been falling apart at the seams, at least.

He let out his lungful of air, pushing himself off the wall and heading towards the Great Hall, where McGonagall was hosting a parting feast for the volunteers who'd helped finally rebuild Hogwarts to its former greatness.

His footsteps echoed in the Entrance Hall, and he hesitated for the briefest moment before pushing open the door to the festivities, allowing the candlelight and laughter to flow over him.

"Malfoy!"

"Draco!"

There were a good dozen shouts of greeting from the group, who'd all warmed up to him considerably after hearing from the headmistress what Draco had done for the castle. Draco held his smile in check, not wanting to seem like a complete Hufflepuff under all of the attention, as Theo gestured at the seat next to him at the long table. Draco complied, slipping in between him and Marcus, who patted Draco firmly on the back before going back to talking with Oliver.

When all eyes had turned away from him once again, Draco scanned the table as he served himself some steak and kidney pie. One-eared Weasley was draped over Johnson, who wasn't resisting; McGonagall was laughing heartily at something O'Donnell and Hood were explaining, and Draco could see her tipsiness in the way she gulped down her gin and tonic; Davies was reading some book, twirling his wand around his fingers absent-mindedly; Granger was scolding the other Weasley and–

Potter.

_Fucking Potter._

Twelve days. Draco had been lying in the Hospital Wing for twelve days, and Potter hadn't shown his face _once_.

And, Merlin, it made him furious that Potter had the gall to simply watch him like he always did back at school, that emerald gaze unwavering as he sipped his shot of Firewhisky. Draco was suddenly tempted to use his imperfect skills of Legilimency – until he remembered that he wouldn't be able to with his limited about of magic.

_Shit_. _Those core-strengthening potions better begin working soon. And Potter better watch his fucking back. Is it in his nature to ignore me for weeks on end?_

He sneered bitingly at Potter before turning to Marcus and joining in on his and Oliver's conversation about Puddlemere United's chances next season.

But, overall, the evening was pleasant, and Draco even felt a pang of bitterness when groups of volunteers began leaving, wishing each other the best before disappearing into the night. "Well, Malfoy, it's about time me and Wood be headin' off," Marcus said through a yawn as he and Oliver stood from the table.

"Let me walk with you two to the gates. I need to talk to you about something."

Marcus shrugged, and Oliver watched Draco appraisingly. The moon hung low over the treeline of the Forbidden Forest, and the lake shone with the reflection of the millions of stars in the sky. Simply put, it was beautiful.

Draco cleared his throat as he walked alongside Marcus and Oliver to the gate. "You know, a while back, I, uh, saw you two in one of the abandoned classrooms…being intimate."

The two men were silent.

And then they burst into rough laughter. Draco stared at them, thoroughly stunned as Marcus guffawed so hard that he had to hold onto Oliver's shoulder for support. "Oh gods, Malfoy," Oliver gasped for air, clutching a stitch in his side. "That's what ya needed to talk to us about all seriously?"

"I don't see how this is particularly amusing. I though being a nancy boy was practically a crime in English Wizarding society," Draco said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the twinge of pain that came as he brushed his Mark against his other arm.

Marcus grinned widely, reaching out to pat Draco's shoulder heartily. "Look, Malfoy, ya gotta loosen up. Yeah, me and Oliver are shagging. Been shaggin' for years now, actually, and we don't really give a fuck what anybody thinks."

"We don't really see why anyone should care what we do with ourselves," Oliver added, still chuckling.

"So you two just…don't care?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. Look, Draco, if anything they say about you is true, ya need to get comfortable with yourself real quick. The world's a mean place if ya not sure who you are." And then Marcus ruffled Draco's hair as if he was a child, causing Draco to squawk and slap the older man's hands away, drawing another laugh from Marcus and Oliver.

"Well, cheers, Malfoy. Good luck out there," Marcus said before continuing his way down the path. Oliver paused a moment, watching Marcus walk away. He turned to Draco.

"Good luck with Potter, Malfoy. You'll work it out somehow." And with that, Oliver was following Marcus towards the gate, leaving Draco standing with his mouth open, watching them leave.

o

_Fuck_.

Draco stood in front of the entranceway to the Gryffindor common room, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. The fat woman in the portrait gazed curiously at him while she curled a strand of her hair around her finger.

"Do you need to get in, love? There's no password during the summer, you know." She pointed out, causing Draco to grind his teeth harder.

_Yes, I know there is no password, you behemoth. It's merely my cowardice that's rooting me to this spot. _He took a deep breath. "Yes, please open." And with a raised eyebrow, the portrait swung open, revealing the pathway into the common room.

Draco slowly climbed through, unable to stop his sneer when his senses were assaulted by the startling amount of red. _Figures, really._ He turned in the empty room, noting the dusty surfaces and the empty fireplace.

He'd only assumed that this is where Potter would go after the feast – the thought only then struck Draco that Potter might've left the castle entirely with the rest of the volunteers. But then there was the sound of footsteps on the high ceiling above, and Draco found the stairs leading to what he could only assume would be the dorms.

He followed the sound of voices, eventually stopping in front of another wooden entryway. He took a deep lungful of air; he pushed open the door.

"-ault, mate," Weasley was saying soothingly, his hand on Potter's shoulder. Granger was watching from her seat on one of the beds, but all eyes immediately turned to Draco as the hinges on the door squeaked. Weasley and Granger were speaking his name in surprise, but all Draco could see were Potter's eyes, which flashed with something dark and flighty before Potter turned his back on him.

"Weasley, Granger: get out. I need to talk with the Boy Wonder."

Granger nodded, seemingly unfazed by Draco's brusque tone, and pulled at Weasley's hand. As she stepped past Draco through the entrance, Granger whispered, "Good luck."

Draco heard the door shut behind him, and a dead silence filled the room. He stared at Potter's back, which remained firmly turned against him.

"Where were you?"

Nothing.

"Potter, I asked you a fucking question."

Silence.

"Where the fuck were you when I was lying in the Hospital Wing, waiting for you?"

_Fuck it._

"What the fuck, Potter? Did you not fucking care about me enough to come see if I was fucking _alive_? Was all of that shit you told me before just a lie?" Draco was yelling, shouting at the top of his lungs, but didn't give a fuck if anyone heard. Potter's shoulders tensed dangerously, but he still didn't say anything.

Draco's pulse _thump_-ed loudly in his ears, and something in him cracked as the quiet stretched through the long distance between them.

And then Draco laughed that same cruel laugh that made him think of sadness and death and his father. "Well, I guess that's your answer, isn't it? You helped McGonagall save me out of what, pity? And then you were done." Draco's smile pulled painfully at his lips. "Well, thanks a fucking lot for the shags, Potter. I guess I should've known from your track record that none of your partners last for long. So much for risking my bloody life to make yours a little fucking better."

Draco's breath hissed through his teeth, and he squeezed the prickling from behind his eyelids before he turned to the door.

And then he was being shoved against it.

He gasped in pain as the door handle jabbed him painfully in the hip and his forehead scraped against the rough grain of the wood. Potter was a solid, burning presence against his back, and Draco gritted his teeth as his body unwillingly began to respond to Potter's proximity.

Potter leaned forward, almost pressing his mouth against Draco's ear. "Are you telling me that you almost burned yourself alive _for me?_ And you think that your death would've made my life _better?_" Draco shivered slightly, feeling Potter's palms close around his wrists.

"I know that you love this bloody castle," Draco muttered angrily. _Apparently more than me_. "It just so happened that only you or I could stop the Room of Requirement from the inside."

"And you didn't feel like this was something you should have _told me?_" Potter yelled suddenly, causing Draco to flinch at the loud volume. Draco turned his head so that he could see Potter out his peripheral vision. Potter's eyes crackled with fury, and blood _thump_-ed loudly in Draco's ears again.

"What, so you could go do your whole suicidal-hero-of-the-world shit again?" Draco rammed his elbow back, yanking his arm out of Potter's grip and hitting him in the gut. Potter grunted, pulling away and allowing Draco to turn around and push Potter until he fell onto his back on the wooden floor.

Draco stood over Potter, panting. "I'd have rather died in that fire than have lived on knowing that _I_ was the one to cause your death."

Potter gaped at him, all of his ire replaced by shock. Draco suddenly heard his words for the confession they were and flushed hotly. _Oh, fuck._

And then Potter kicked at his ankle and he was toppling to the floor, his hands and knees catching his fall. Something shoved at his shoulder, and he fell onto his back, hitting his skull on the cold floor. Potter straddled him, snarling.

"You fucking idiot. Do you think that I would've wanted to live after I learned that you died to save me and this fucking school? Do you really think that I'd sha - no - _make love_ to you twice out of _pity?_ Do you believe that me tracking you down after all this time was a big joke?" Draco's throat was bone-dry. "Well, I guess you must believe that, considering you seem to know me so little."

Potter leaned down, his glasses bumping against Draco's nose. All Draco could see was green. Startling pools of green. "I didn't visit you in the Hospital Wing because I was _so fucking terrified_ that you might not be okay. And after I heard that you were alright, I was _so fucking angry_ that you'd done something so bloody stupid. Because how could you value yourself so little, Draco? Do you not understand how much I fucking _need_ you?"

And Draco couldn't even reply. All he could croak was a broken "Potter" before Harry was kissing him, attacking his mouth so violently that it was less a loving gesture and more like a punishment.

Draco reached up, clawing at Harry's shoulders as he desperately pulled Harry against his chest, savouring Harry's groan of pleasure that vibrated through both of their bodies. And then it was only slick heat and cut off moans.

"Bed?" Harry gasped as he pulled away, his glasses pushed up on his forehead and his hair a tangled mess from where Draco's fingers had been holding it. Draco could only nod, taking Harry's hand as he heaved them to their feet before stumbling and pressing Draco against his bed.

Draco sat up, allowing Harry to pull off his shirt, goose bumps rising where Harry's fingertips brushed against the ticklish skin over his ribs. Harry leaned down, capturing Draco's lips once again as he unzipped both of their trousers, drawing back to set aside his glasses and drag off his own shirt, revealing firm muscles that quivered under Draco's fingers.

"Jesus – can I fuck you again? Please?" Harry's breath caught as he pressed his face against Draco's collar while Draco palmed the growing hardness in his pants.

"Yeah," Draco murmured quietly, using his other hand to grab Harry's chin and kiss him firmly. And then their pants were gone, and Draco was being turned onto his stomach. He scrabbled at Harry's pillow, burying his blushing face in it as Harry kissed down the smooth curve of his back.

And, _oh fuck_, he couldn't contain his moan as Harry pulled apart his cheeks, licking tentatively at the fluttering rim of his hole. "Oh, Merlin, Harry – I can't – ah!" Draco was nonsensical as Harry's tongue pressed into him, burning hot and slippery.

Draco lost track of time as Harry continued to eat him out, and he was soon gasping for breath, his cock twitching painfully against his stomach. "Fuck, Harry, just fucking put it in already," he growled, reaching down to pinch the base of his cock to keep from coming.

"Not just yet, your majesty," Harry teased breathily against his ear, pressing a biting kiss onto the back of his neck as he slipped a lube-covered finger into Draco's arse. It wasn't long before he added another, causing Draco to turn his head on the pillow, allowing Harry to kiss him sloppily. When the third finger had joined the other two, and Draco's hole felt loose and wet, Harry drew back, grasping at Draco's hips and pulling them into a sharper angle.

Then there was that dull pressure, and Harry thrust inside, causing both men to groan lowly. "Y'alright?" Harry panted as he waited for Draco to relax around him, though he was barely hanging onto his control.

"Yes, for fuck's sake, Harry! Just fuck me!" Draco yelped, shoving his arse back against Harry's hips. Draco watched over his shoulder as Harry's mouth turned into a savage smile and he suddenly rammed into Draco, forcing Draco to brace himself against the headboard.

"Like that?" Harry whispered darkly as he thrust forward again.

"Fuck yes. Harder," Draco ordered, sighing happily as Harry proceeded to pound him more forcefully. And then that spark lit Draco's nerves. "Oh, fuck! _There!_"

And then Harry was leaning down, wrapping his arms around Draco's torso and pulling him upright. Draco reached his hand back, threading it into Harry's ridiculously messy hair, and Harry ground his hips against Draco's arse. "God, Draco, you feel so good," Harry mumbled against the sensitive skin behind Draco's ear.

Draco shivered, and bit his lip trying to contain his moan as Harry reached around and grabbed his cock. Draco turned his head, pulling Harry's head forward until their tongues could tangle messily, filling the air with more slick noises.

"Oh, fuck, I'm close," Draco gasped against Harry's mouth as Harry thumbed the slit of his cock. Draco couldn't help but tighten his hole, enjoying the sound of Harry's breath stutter in response.

"Me too," Harry grimaced, rolling his hips as he continued to fist Draco's cock. And then he was sloppily pressing his mouth to Draco's again, thrusting erratically as he panted and came. Draco shuddered as Harry squeezed around his cock, and the tight coil of tension in his abdomen released, and he came, his vision whiting out on the edges as Harry swallowed his mewls.

Draco fell forward, Harry weighing heavily against his back. It was a bit annoying, but comforting as pleasant haziness clouded Draco's view. However, Harry eventually pulled out, leaving that unpleasant empty feeling in his wake. He collapsed next to Draco, watching him with unadulterated affection.

"Say it again," Draco whispered as he stared back at Harry.

"Say what?" Harry whispered, his forehead wrinkling endearingly.

"That you need me," Draco breathed.

Comprehension bloomed in Harry's eyes, and his smile was soft and crooked. He reached over, running his fingers through Draco's fine hair tenderly.

"I need you, Draco."

Draco fell asleep with a pleased grin pulling at his lips, his fingers intertwined with Harry's.

o

_Flames licked at Draco's skin yet he felt no pain. Great beasts roared out of the hazy surroundings, their eyes glowing with hunger. _No, no – please, stop, anyone, stop this –

Draco awoke with a gasp, his eyes opening onto dim hints of daylight. His heart was thundering in his chest, and it took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. _This is Potter's room_, he slowly realized. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he attempted to relax his pulse. He could feel the tacky sensation of sweat drying to the sheets and his skin.

An odd rumble sounded outside of the darkness of his eyelids, and Draco cautiously opened them. He tentatively sat up, grimacing at the soreness in his hips. And there was the cause of that soreness, sleeping soundly next to him, snoring loudly.

Draco's mouth twitched up at the corners. _Annoying prick_.

Yawning, Draco slipped out from the covers, stretching as he shuffled to the bright window. He leaned his bony elbows against the chilled, rough surface of the windowsill, watching the liquid sunlight swirl amongst the morning fog. As the day broke through the young dawn, the Marked man couldn't help but wonder about the upcoming evening of September first – the addition of all of those insecure children and judgmental teenagers, the influence of hundreds of new interlopers into his haven, each one of them expecting something from him and Potter that they could no longer provide.

_It's all going to go to hell, isn't it?_ He couldn't help but predict as he watched Headmistress McGonagall begin her morning stroll around the lake.

There was a sleepy, questioning grumble from the covers. "…Draco? Whad'are you doing? Come back to bed," Potter called gruffly as he pulled back the warm blankets in an invitation.

Draco's mouth quirked into a fond smirk as he gazed at the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice over his pale shoulder, the Gryffindor's dark hair sticking up in odd angles and a dried line of drool smeared on the left corner of his mouth. Those green eyes were slitted in drowsy bemusement as Draco slowly made his way back to the bed, leaning down to press his lips against Harry's in a quick exchange of sentiment.

_But I suppose all of that can wait until tomorrow._

ooOoo

Fin

ooOoo

**606's Note: AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. IT'S DONE. :D**

**Now I can finally do some other Drarry fics! YAAAY! **

**Oh, there definitely will be a sequel, just not for a while. Like, months. So don't be waiting on bated breath or anything. But I hope you guys will stay tuned for some other fics I'm excited to begin! (Oh, in addition to a sequel, this same story is gonna be retold through Harry's POV, so, just, uh, look forward to that too?)**

**P.S. Thanks so much to all of you who stuck around since the beginning, and also to those who joined the party a bit later. All of your guys' reviews were awesome, and I appreciate every single one of those follows or favorites. So, well, thanks so much, and I hope you at least enjoyed Wednesday Lessons a little.**

**Bye!**


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